Free online greeting card maker or poetry art generator. Create free custom printable greeting cards or art from photos and text online. Use PoetrySoup's free online software to make greeting cards from poems, quotes, or your own words. Generate memes, cards, or poetry art for any occasion; weddings, anniversaries, holidays, etc (See examples here). Make a card to show your loved one how special they are to you. Once you make a card, you can email it, download it, or share it with others on your favorite social network site like Facebook. Also, you can create shareable and downloadable cards from poetry on PoetrySoup. Use our poetry search engine to find the perfect poem, and then click the camera icon to create the card or art.
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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I sit at the window and just stare at the jagged trees, their branches jutting out like anorexic bones. The bars of rigid light explode in the empty room, draping me in a dark shade of gold, the colour of yellow intestines; it’s nicotine arms reach in and strangle me in my empty room. I’ve been taught to ignore my reflection but absorb the landscape, I’m now an unnatural shade of green as it’s swallowed up my insides. They’ve taken away the knives. It’s too easy to slit your throat. The doctor comes to heal, or whatever it is he calls it; he bandages and plasters over my open wounds so now they’ve stop staining my dresses. They’ve taken away the edges, no corners in the room at all, and the walls are as soft as babies born with straight limbs. The clock’s toothless grin widens and I have all the time in the world. Some say I’ve been fixed, I’m back to their normal. I’m not so sure. They can fix my body, the limbs can be nailed together and stuck with their glue, but my mind has died. I can feel it rotting, dripping from the ears, the smell fouling the air like road kill. The soft carcass houses maggots that crawl out at night. My hair has faded to the colour of dead leaves, when I creep around the room, which is very frowned upon, I can feel it rustle like a ball gown being dragged along rock. I yearn for the changes that I see through the window, I want to be the white moon that peeks through the fingers of trees, I used to see that whiteness in my eyes, but that is also frowned upon. The pot plants can’t survive here either, the air is too thick for their gills. I’m sure I’m dying, but whilst peeking at my chart, I’ve seen them tick the box labelled ‘healthy’ even though I know I’ll never leave this sick room alive.
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