The Art Of Self Destruction Poem by Tiffany Walters

Even in my childhood it was my nature,

Growing up without simple human nurture.

I made up an art in my head when I was eight,

A little scrambled was my mental state.



The art of self destruction,

Self infliction my reconstruction.

Crying without tears for so long,

The blood became tears, and infliction my song.



My mind was a canvas of negativity,

Painting my own destruction was my creativity.

No one could take my engraved work of art from me,

It was the only thing I controlled, do you see?



Buying razors as if they were for painting,

My work of art, completely tainted.

Tainted with the hate for myself deep inside,

My scars are visible, but at least my tears I could hide.



The art of self destruction,

So well it was, a perfect picture of my corruption.