Bite off the tip of your tongue
Let blood bleed out from your mouth
Red words come out
Self destruction
Just for one good poem
Writing is therapeutic
But I do it so much I need thereapy
People look at me
Everything I say is a song
But not a good one
I've got bags under my seeing tunnels
If I continue I'll be in trouble
Words arranged
Then rearranged
The perfect part will capture your heart
Then tear it apart