Poems of A Bored Teen

The Artist

The artist.

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Silver paint,

Golden rings,

This artist knows

To paint what stings.

Happy days,

Lonely nights,

She makes her art

In search of light

Brush in hand,

Hues with depth.

She keeps on wondering

Why he left

But she never will find

An answer to her wonders

So she just hold on

To their memories as lovers

It hurts her chest

To think of love that didn't last

So instead she does her best

And spill her tears on the canvas

Silver paint,

Golden rings,

This artist knows

To paint what stings

But for every line

And for every stroke

She cannot fix what she once broke

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