I'm drawing a picture
A random drawing of me
Lines across my face
Blood against my wrists
As I draw the line against my skin
The blood draws back the pain
Nothing gives, nothing gets
Simple lines against the world
Halfway gone I drop myself
Down a road of guilt
The pictures half formed
No story there, just a memory
My story, my life
Blades will fade,
But stories remain
My picture half deformed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem