An artist of perfection,
Paints a story of her past,
Every stroke a shade of red,
Each one made to last,
Her tool a shiny razor blade,
A canvas made of skin,
Each line and cross a memory,
Of a pain found deep within,
Slowly her body reveals a map,
Of where love once used to be,
She slashed and sliced just to feel,
A pain that she could see,
The ink would run, The pain would sting,
She'd smile a job well done,
Then she'd hide herself amongst the stars
And admit that fear had won!
Becky Ginn
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-artist-of-perfection/
