Trading silver for black

but the black can't pull red

the black stays black.

Artistry they call it

but I know better

the red is art

because art is passion

Trading sharpness for eloquence

But the pain still calls

with every heartbeat

rushing through burning veins

scorching raw lifelines

And now there is no way to let it out

Trading knives for pens

but it isn't the same

pens don't cut as deep

words may flow like blood

but they are black

and I know better

because the red is art

and art is passion