Writing poetry to help free the brokenness in me. While the blazing flames of fire paint different shades of desires on blood red stained bed sheets. I lay here down on my feet with nothing surrounding me but my papers and feather pen. Hoping the black ink won't dry out cause ill have to finish this journey even if i have to bleed myself dry. I'll have to write the rest of my poetry with my own blood if my black ink decides to run out ~

Full of such heavy thoughts, yet feeling so unbearably empty.