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The answer after being asked, "How I'm doing?" was caught in my airway. So I take a blade and slashed across my throat- Ink oozed from the seeping wound, stanzas splashed across each page, putting a hand upon my chest, I felt purpose- ripped it out. My heart it bleeds, in truths of me and in thoughts of you. The wonderment of what it was that coursed through my veins, describing the phenomenon of how it rains, or we allow ourselves to express pain. Losing blood and shying away from what other's think, when transfusion began they gave me ink. Speaking of honesty, I promise you- when fear takes over, I'll write for me & I'll write for you.
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Feb 16, 2021
Feb 16, 2021 at 6:04 PM UTC
My Blood is Made of Ink
The answer after being asked, "How I'm doing?" was caught in my airway. So I take a blade and slashed across my throat- Ink oozed from the seeping wound, stanzas splashed across each page, putting a hand upon my chest, I felt purpose- ripped it out. My heart it bleeds, in truths of me and in thoughts of you. The wonderment of what it was that coursed through my veins, describing the phenomenon of how it rains, or we allow ourselves to express pain. Losing blood and shying away from what other's think, when transfusion began they gave me ink. Speaking of honesty, I promise you- when fear takes over, I'll write for me & I'll write for you.
nucherub
Written by
25/F/Iowa
Feb 16, 2021
Feb 16, 2021 at 6:04 PM UTC
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