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Literature Text
The glide of the hand, the creator.
The taunting whisper of pencils,
Jealously hiding the secrets of genius.
The swift, careful curves,
The soft, tender stroke.
The mind behind, so expert,
Cannot be guessed.
Is it madness to attempt
Such impossible beauty?
Will we ever know?
How would we even begin?
Is he so empty?
Because, when he draws,
He takes his soul from his body
And onto the page.
The taunting whisper of pencils,
Jealously hiding the secrets of genius.
The swift, careful curves,
The soft, tender stroke.
The mind behind, so expert,
Cannot be guessed.
Is it madness to attempt
Such impossible beauty?
Will we ever know?
How would we even begin?
Is he so empty?
Because, when he draws,
He takes his soul from his body
And onto the page.
Literature
Voor jou
Ik wil alleen voor jou bestaan
de adem die ik adem is voor jou
hoeveel pijn je me ook doet
ik lijd alleen voor jou
elke val die ik maak
elke keer dat ik opsta
elke keer dat ik opgeef
ik doe het voor jou
Literature
Trapped
How difficult it is to stay sane.
Every mistake, another regret.
Always reliving this pain.
No matter what I do, my brain
will never let me forget.
How difficult it is to stay sane.
Countless nights I have lain
contemplating ifs long after the game has set.
Always reliving this pain.
It all holds me back. Each another chain
controlling my actions like a marionette.
How difficult it is to stay sane.
No matter how hard I try, I remain
trapped in this negative mindset.
Always reliving this pain.
When all my efforts go down the drain,
and you can't help but wish for a reset,
how difficult it is to stay sane.
Always reliving this
Literature
Tragedy
I’m the girl in the books that is a mystery. A tragic heroin that gives the main character a new perspective.
Quiet girl, riot girl. A rebel, a tragedy.
I’m the wild ride, the adventure, the challenge. I’m the girl he wants to know all about until he goes too far and I’m no longer real.
I’m the manic depressive pixie dream girl with a tragic end.
I’m not his type but he goes after me anyway because my wild eyes, wild hair, wild life, wild thoughts.
Oh look, I’ve got an attitude. Screaming at the world, fuck the system, tongue as sharp as a knife attitude. Middle fingers, swearing at everyone, bit
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Written over a year ago, so forgive its shiteness. I just thought some people might like it because it's about art 
© 2010 - 2024 hannahdavies666
Comments10
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Is he so empty?
Because, when he draws,
He takes his soul from his body
And onto the page.
Brillance upon paper. Good job. ^.^
Because, when he draws,
He takes his soul from his body
And onto the page.
Brillance upon paper. Good job. ^.^