The tip of my brush dips into the
Pot of thick black sticky paint
To smear across my face and
Skin and flesh, blocking out
Everything that causes my
Paining heart to cry
Unceasingly.
Is death a
Better
Option?
I paint some more.
The tip of my brush dips into the
Pot of thick black sticky paint
To smear across my face and
Skin and flesh, blocking out
Everything that causes my
Paining heart to cry
Unceasingly.
Is death a
Better
Option?
I paint some more.
Poems and Petals 
Well articulated! Also try painting with your brush some dark clouds hovering in the sky. At least, they have silver lining, don’t they?
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Yes, I love that thought, thank you 😀
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Welcome! I can visualise your silver lined thoughts. 🙂
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Absolutely spot on!!
I’m feeling the very same most of the time nowadays, & it seems bad days are more and more frequent.
I love how you address the stuff that ‘doesn’t get discussed’.
A deep and dark poem.
Thank you.
Leandra
X
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i feel ya vonita i hope the painting helps. x
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