This is the poem my friend made me
The paint is red; my favorite
My canvass is smooth, silky, and always has room for more.
Some people use paint brushes
Which I don’t see the need for.
My type of art is special; different
My pictures never leave, or melt.
They’re there forever; eternally...
The more people judge me for being artistic
I love what I do even more
It’s beautiful; deadly; perfect, and morbid.
It’s special to me. It’s what I do to express myself so deal with it.