Crimson

Sitting in the dark,
She was itching to draw,
For her art she required no pens,
Nor any paper,
For this artwork would be just like her others,
Crimson masterpieces littering her body,
She was just like the other artists,
So why did nobody like her canvas?
Why was her art scorned and spat upon?
So in the dark she lifted her tools,
And began to paint once more,
To write her story,
Again and again.