The Drawinf Of The Pain

I slowly grab a pen
Strongly, in my hand,
Not a pencil, cause what I feel it’s permanent.

I draw a tinny line of red,
It’s the start of the end.
Some won’t, but some will understand.

I write sins carefully,
In the dark so that nobody can see.
They’ll judge, believe me.
I’ve felt it, and I still feel.

Back to the drawing,
I look to the pen,
Feels good to see it drowning.
‘’It’s the last time’’ I say again.

Small lines draw a face,
Lie: they draw tears.
Some of them are of pain…
Some of them are rage…

My heart beats faster,
And my wrist hurts,
But I look proudly,
To the draw I’ve done.

Feels like isn’t finish,
And there are missing things.
They need to be drew,
I stand and look thru.

With no fear I draw the rest,
And the red paint falls on the floor,
It’s for all of those who hurt,
For all of those who ignore.

Grab a paper, clean the mess,
It’s done, tomorrow is the rest.

I look to the lines, such a beautiful draw.
This way I end the day.
Can’t appear with no clothes in the mirror today
Or I’ll see,
The drawing of the pain.