A canvas of skin. The knife is my paintbrush. My blood is my paint. Can I paint you a pretty picture? A picture of my pain, a picture of my emotions, etched deep into my skin. Can I tell you of a girl who longs to escape from within? Look at my pretty picture. Do you see it on my leg? Pink scars criss-crossing each other. Or what about my arm? I have a picture there too. Faint pink dots telling a story. You don't get it do you? You think i'm just a crazy freak. Thats because you can't see my pretty pictures. All you see are scars and wounds, but I see the pain escaping. I see painful memories. The memories hurt so much sometimes, but all the pretty pictures. Do you like my pretty pictures?
By: Amanda Lee