Where to begin, as a painting, this canvas has its subject

In life, I look beyond myself, yet in a whole I’m an object

Belonging to a group that you can easily point out in a crowd

Even though quiet my voice, inside screaming a loud.

How do I see myself in the mirror, you’ve asked?

My face has seen it all, in the light never me, but a mask

Eyes, that have seen hell first hand, squinting from the fires

Friends, family, constantly surrounded by liars

My mind warped from the endless drug use

Prescriptions, yes my drug, meaning of life obtuse.

My hands withered and yellowed from the cigarettes lit

Listening to words but never giving a shit

My body just one big canvas full of dark demonic scares

Sitting back, through my eyes, the site of stars

My neck mutilated as if I were one of Frankenstein’s creations

In my abdomen no pain, no feel of sensation

Wrists cut up from inner demons battling to get out

My mind and body never on the same page, a loud shout

Scars meander upon my flesh telling of my personal hell

To get out of it, well that would be swell

A train track shows a journey I’ve traveled many times

Other scares horizontally, all over, thick lines

My body, a canvas, every changing, never ending

Alas, my artwork will be complete when the morgue, they are sending

No more surgeries, but an entire removal of blood

Emotional, cast away the tears, let there be no flood

For the abstract piece you’ve known to see

Has finally become a work of art, do you agree?