And with her artists' tool she scribed
Her masterpiece of art
The curlicues and pirouettes
bleeding from her heart
With unknown grace
The ink seeped out
But never too too much
She could stop,
she knew she could
Control the gentle touch
But magic she could never grasp
Grew from her painter's brush
It knew her pain like no one else
And in it she could trust
And with a shush it killed her screams
When she realized what was done
Panic lasts an eternity
......But hadn't it been fun?
Go ahead, be mean. I don't think this is any good anyways.
