Some might call me Picasso with a pen instead of a paintbrush. .
I paint a picture of my expericences as my tears rush. .
In my hand I hold my pen with a tip that's sharp as a nail. .
I paint a picture of my life with blood, tears and betrayal. .
First, a dab of a dark green for jealousy and greed. .
Mix in some blue, for the sadness that envelops me. .
Perhaps some red mixed with black, to create a broken heart. .
Cause from the start I was never wanted in the first instance. .
But with persistance, I struggle to move and groove on. .
I keep on, paintin' it all with words. . Creatin' my own shade. .
I paint the ropes of hope in my life.. Tattered and frayed. .
Stir in some jade laced with a touch of gray. .
To symbolize everyday spent in envy and decay. . But which way. .
Do I go next, I'm not done yet, I splurge the paint and hold my breath. .
What have I created? What is the color to which I have given breath?
I painted my life, and came out with the color of death. .

I paint a picture of my life. . It's the start of the end. .
But the beauty of life's canvas is. .
You can paint over it and begin to start again. .

Something short. . Leave links. pz