Bloody Canvas Lyrics Novels & Stories

Hell, even her skin seems to be loose and pallid. And so I try a third canvas. And then a fourth. Each time, the same themes emerge. “Fuck this,” I finally mutter, grabbing a thick brush and loading it with white paint. I slash it across the canvas, obliterating everything I’ve just done. I strike again and again, gritting my teeth, splattering white paint all over myself and the surrounding area. But it doesn’t even cover the image. The paint is still wet, so it just turns everything into a brown smear, and somehow I swear I can still see those hateful eyes watching me from beneath it all.

❤❤❤❤❤ ♪♪♪♪♪♪“Let out hearts stop and beat as one forever Draw me a smile and save me tonight I am a blank page waiting for you to bring me to life Paint me a heart, let me be your art I am a blank page waiting for life to start itself.”♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪ ★★BELLA★★

But you see, it’s not me It’s not my family In your head, in your head, they are fighting With their tanks, and their bombs And their bombs, and their guns In your head, in your head, they are crying In your head, in your head Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie What’s in your head, in your head Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie, oh Sophia Blanc sang into the mic, her voice booming from the speakers in the club. Behind her Mike, Stella, Rosa and Nate played the instruments.

The groom mounting the bride on a throne of corpses. My hand moved faster than my mind. I dipped the brush deeper, harder, tearing at the canvas like I was cutting flesh. I mixed the reds and blacks until they bled together, thick and viscous. The eyes I painted stared back, wide and lifeless. The flowers were rotting. The sky dripped gore. A massacre. And I smiled. They wanted a masterpiece? I’d give them one they’d never forget.

"I want to go home!" One of the hoods moves as a council member signals something to someone on my right. I turn in time to see broad shoulders too close to have time to run. The light flickers upon a silver blade. My mouth opens to scream in dismay, but nothing comes out. Why? As I touch my throat, my fingers are bathed in a warm, thick liquid. A fine line along my neck ignites a pang of pain. I raise my hands only to discover they are painted in red. My muscles aren't mine to control anymore. My body falls to one side, blood pumping out of my neck as I suffocate and choke.

He didn't need to do that. "We'll start with one you know," he finished, catching my eye with a tiny, sideways grin. "This is 'Bloody Blooms.'" An excited cheer went up. A crowd pleaser. We were the entertainment, after all. Sy tapped his knuckles against the body of his guitar, a wordless count-in. One, two, three, four… This time I couldn't let the first verse go by without letting my voice join with his. Every beat was precious. I opened my mouth in perfect unison with him, bursting into the lyrics,

I turn it over, I turn it over I loved and I loved and I lost you I loved and I loved and I lost you I loved and I loved and I lost you And it hurts like hell -Cut by Plumb I’m not a stranger No, I am yours With crippled anger And tears that still drip sore A fragile flame aged With misery And when our eyes meet I know you’ll see I do not want to be afraid I do not want to die inside just to breathe in I’m tired of feeling so numb Relief exists I find it when I am cut I may seem crazy Or painfully shy And these scars wouldn’t be so hidden If you would just look me in the eye I feel alone here and cold here Though I don’t want to die But the only anesthetic that makes me feel anything kills i

I grabbed the huge canvas and my paints without bothering to tie my hair up. Colors collided on the canvas, raw and wild. Rage mixed with sorrow, bleeding into every stroke—red for the fury in the background, black for the emptiness, lines in the red, white for the hollow ache blending with the blue, brown for the weight of it all. But...Blue surged, sharp and piercing, until his image actually emerged. Not the man himself, but his eyes. Those cruel, calculating blue eyes that knew exactly how to lie. The image spoke...as if it was actually him on the other side—laughing at me, cruelly.

I can see… I can almost envision the chaos, the madness and the destruction…I can almost taste the destruction. The brush glides on the canvas leaving a trail of black behind it. “Poor Davi…poor, poor Davina.”

'No matter how evil you are, Elixier my love, I'll always love you' I'm a black canvas. A paper pure white. And yes, I wanted to have color. I wanted somebody to paint me. Elixier did. But instead of coloring me with paint, he painted me with blood. Well I don't regret letting him do that. Red is a powerful color. Red stands out. Red is fierce. But fire is also red. That if it burns you, you'll turn black. Life is meaningless without him. I'd rather burn myself in the color of red in the flames as long as I'm with him, than be safe as a colorless canvas.