Walking Art

i draw pictures;
on my skin,
of the dark;
that lies within.
of the stitches,
that hold me together,
a weightless stone,
a 2 ton feather.
i draw the walls,
that hold me in;
all the pain;
and all the sin.
i draw dead trees,
and broken hearts;
like all of us;
doomed from the start.
i am a piece of walking art.
feel free to stand and stare.
don't think that i don't see you.
i know that you are there.
i feel your eyes,
i see your fear.
and all those words,
you know i hear.
your words mean nothing;
worthless tokens.
like lines on a script,
left unspoken.
but i hear you,
all the same.
you know that,
i see your games.
i play no part,
in the grand scheme.
if it even exists,
for there is no theme.
no life is,
always the same.
one day will change.
so im a piece of walking art,
but try to save yourselves.
do not read to deeply,
into my own hell.

by chynna mccaskill

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