Canvas

You’ve been rising for hours drinking in bliss

Every scar is a piece of your soul you shall miss

Every bee sting is a blissful mark that  you hide

A bitter sweet thing, this sadistic muse, your pride

Every track a new path for your masochistic train

Every tear shed for you adds to the torrential rain

But you don’t care about the flood because your flying

And while you soar you bloody clan is bruised and dying

But then the wind finally is gone and gravity brings its heavy hand

And as you try to grasp your singed wings you rapidly fall to the land

You look into the crimson tapestry of the sky and fall into an endless hole

You sadly wonder why there are bloody strokes on the canvas of your soul.

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