An Artist Sufferings

Her eyes shone, 

In the far away night. 

There's a million stones, 

But her eyes met mine. 

I saw her down the hallway, 

But didn't care much anyway. 

Few days later, 

She was like torn up paper. 

She was standing alone, 

Her heart far away from home. 

She held a brush like no other, 

And a canvas placed front. 

She can paint a pretty picture, 

But her day glowed dimmer. 

As her brush was a razor, 

Her canvas was her wrist. 

She hurts and she cries, 

But you can't see it in her eyes. 

As she always smiles, 

And says "I'm fine".

A knife to her wrist was her way out, 

But no one ever did hear her shouts. 

She's dead inside,

Suffering outside.