I stroke the brush across the white canvas before me.

A blade for a brush, I hear nothing, but hush.

I color my canvas with red, I keep a slow pace, why rush?

A painted smile is what they will see.

My painted smile of my blood, you see?

I keep up my work, filling the blank spaces on my arms.

I keep trying, but it never fulfills my reason for harm.

I want to give up, and die in my own skin.

I want to leave, but I can't give in.

I won't let the demons have their way.

So I drop the knife, and tell the demons.

"Go away, let us play again, another day.."