The Artist of Pain

By Tristan Santos

I once knew a boy who liked to draw,

He drew pictures that nobody saw.

He worked best at night,

In his bedroom out of sight.

His works were different,

No pen or paper.

We sat by the river under the stars,

He rolled up his sleeves and showed me his scars,

He fell silent.Ashamed, he stared at his shoe.

Then I rolled up my sleeves and whispered "I draw too".