Little scarlet artist cries...
because somebody figured out how she died..

Ok. now that i have recovered from shock, i'm going to leave you a real comment...

Scarlet artist paints a picture
To see if she still feels you
All the tears roll from her eyes
All the lies that won't come true

^ "I've become so numb..." It's funny how being numb can drag you into new extremes..to see..just to make sure you're still alive...not a ghost..still have feelings that are human.

She swears that she's OK
She swears she could care less
But the pretty picture on her wrist
Scarlet artist's mess

^ first two lines...lmao. she swears she's OK..because she lies to herself...tries to convince herself while she's trying to convince the world...

She swears she doesn't care
That she doesn't give a fck
Maybe all those lies will turn true
With a bit of blood and luck

^ maybe she swears she doesn't care...because if she says it..it'll become true. the lies part made me think of maggie..calling me ugly..how it turned true, but a long time ago...

Little scarlet artist
Paint a picture now
Razor blade and broken heart
All her practice she knows how

^ and the broken heart bottomed out riiiight about here...and scarlet artists won't be able to breathe while they read from this point on..

Little scarlet artist
Thinks it helps her heal
Thinking her sharp paint brush
Gives a fck about how she feels

^ thank you for caring more than the stupid paint brush..thank you..

This is all your fault
You left, no longer there
Artist tool inside her hand
How deep a cut does she dare?

^ so many people are all at fault..wonder what they would think if they read this poem..wonder if they would feel guilty. the last line...she asked herself that twice.

Here is the end
The final plot twist
Paints a picture with her tool
Paints it down her wrist

^ she didn't paint pictures...they were words. i liked this stanza..idk why..

She bleeds out
Painted her final design
Clock screams out seconds
Till she's out of time

^ 1, treasure hunt. who started the clock thing, jesse? i don't even remember...

Scarlet angel paints no more
And now she can't feel you
Silver streaks from long dried tears
From dead eyes that no longer see you

^ the last line scares me..there's more than one way to die...scarlet artist doesn't paint any more...she also doesn't feel any more..very very true ending..

great job, jesse. i mean it. i really loved this poem..and hated it at the same time..5/5

Oh,god,this is incredible!
soo...true
sadly true

Wow, harsh and powerful. srry, i feel a little uncomfterble commenting on this typ of poem. but it was great really, it made me think. 5/5
xoxo
~waiting~

The words are very annoying, and provoking. You can feel it go through you so deep. Magnificent work. [5.5]

Best wishes,

Sarah

Omg!! im sooo sry!!!!! i can c y u hate it if its based on a friend. really really sry. good work tho...

Wow. That was amazing. Beyond amazing. I can't even find a word that would suit it. I've known many people who cut, and this is exactly what I've felt like saying to them. It was seriously incredible. I love it when a poem can paint a picture in my head for me, and this one went above and beyond that.

Skye

This is nice :) i totally feel the same way. i used to cut but now i realize how stupid it is. this is like me in writing 5/5

Wow. that was absolutely beautiful. =]

So it's 3:30 A.M. and I'm torturing myself with old poems. and I decided I wanted to recomment this one. So here goes.

First off, I still like it. It's interesting to see how the artist's perspective has changed over a few months' time. And she's so different now. She doesn't cut anymore. She tries so hard...but she's the same girl, Jesse. So many people mistake her for being strong. and she's not, not really. She can keep sharp objects off her wrist, but that's because she doesn't have the energy to do it anymore.

Scarlet artist paints a picture
To see if she still feels you
All the tears roll from her eyes
All the lies that won't come true

^^ The first stanza, it's funny, almost. Maybe ironic, I don't know. This entire stanza has a whole new meaning to me now that I'm reading it at a later date. But I still love it.

She swears that she's OK
She swears she could care less
But the pretty picture on her wrist
Scarlet artist's mess

^^ She's a mess still....you just can't see it. It doesn't get better just because you stop painting.

She swears she doesn't care
That she doesn't give a fu ck
Maybe all those lies will turn true
With a bit of blood and luck

^^ she doesn't care. I know that now. It took a while, but she figured it out. The lines never turn true, she never got that lucky. Too bad. You should write a sequel to this poem...it'd be interesting.

Little scarlet artist
Paint a picture now
Razor blade and broken heart
All her practice she knows how

^^ this was actually the only stanza i felt happy to read now. Because I know she stops. I know how the story ends. So i feel proud of her for stopping. but like i said, her reason is she doesn't care enough anymore to waste the effort doing so.

Little scarlet artist
Thinks it helps her heal
Thinking her sharp paint brush
Gives a fu ck about how she feels

^^ it gave more of a care than some people did. not you. but other people..

This is all your fault
You left, no longer there
Artist tool inside her hand
How deep a cut does she dare?

^^ How many people could we blame it on now, Jesse? wanna count with me?? ((ooh..that sounded bitter..sorry))

She bleeds out
Painted her final design
Clock screams out seconds
Till she's out of time

^^ she runs out of time eventually...just not quite the way you predicted. Interesting how poems seem set in stone until something happens and they aren't anymore.

Scarlet angel paints no more
And now she can't feel you
Silver streaks from long dried tears
From dead eyes that no longer see you

^^ I actually just realized that it says angel in this stanza, not artist...the eyes don't see. it's scary, that image. and horribley realistc.

sorry. twas my boredom buster to re-review this after time's passed. it's still a great poem, jesse.