I bleed for this art
Spill my blood for it
Using it to write each poem I bitterly declared my last
Telling myself that if I bleed long enough
Expend enough of myself
Write just one more line—
It would be evidence I cared
I have crucified myself for this art
Begging for the cup to pass
With each lash from my tongue,
Flesh rent from my back—
It would be evidence I suffered
I face an indifferent judge for this art
Chasing a verdict that will never come
Because if I pass judgment,
Confirm my guilt—
It would finally be evidence I failed
Instead I am led by phantoms who whisper in the still of night—
Here is torment but not death
3d ago
Jun 1, 2026 at 10:47 AM UTC
I bleed for this art
Spill my blood for it
Using it to write each poem I bitterly declared my last
Telling myself that if I bleed long enough
Expend enough of myself
Write just one more line—
It would be evidence I cared
I have crucified myself for this art
Begging for the cup to pass
With each lash from my tongue,
Flesh rent from my back—
It would be evidence I suffered
I face an indifferent judge for this art
Chasing a verdict that will never come
Because if I pass judgment,
Confirm my guilt—
It would finally be evidence I failed
Instead I am led by phantoms who whisper in the still of night—
Here is torment but not death
