A poem I made up-Any suggestions?
xxxxxxxxxxxx
She’s a broken picture,
An image scratched in pain.
Marred by grief and fear,
A life long permanent stain.
She was lifeless for ages,
Barely more then alive.
Just scribbling words on pages,
Smeared whenever she cried.
She reflected madness,
That gave her strength to dream.
Yet you all flocked to her canvas,
Trying to peer between the seems.
What do you envy about her?
What could you possibly need?
Why would you take her poetry?
Words drowning as a heart bleeds.
You really have it that bad?
That you think it’s okay.
Somehow she deserves your spite?
Reason’s you’ll never say.
So you became the murder,
Of the little joy that’s left.
In time she will forget you,
Another shadow of regret.
