Art

He dug his fingers into 

my colors,

searching for himself. 

Carving my insides into something

beautiful. 

Writing his words 

across my skin 

making a book out of me.

He took the flowers out of

my garden,

and planted weeds. 

He took me apart and hung me 

on the wall

and called it 

priceless. 

Reviews

[Chris]

Damn - this one hurt... been there.

[GwenLark]

To me it has so many meanings, so many emotions, it is wonderful

[k.s.]

Thank you. That's my goal as a writer, to make my readers feel something.

[GwenLark]

You have definitely succeeded!

[Sergei]

I love this! The imagery is simple, yet vivid, and conveys the pain in the poem perfectly!