the words spill out of me
like running water or flowing sand
running endless through my fingers
gushing and trickling with no end
all this spilled ink straight from my wrists
leaking out from my veins, where it ebbs
just under my skin, dancing always
it says that I am the ocean
and nobody owns me
my words are my own, like my lungs
which are filled with salt water
and more spilling ink
the words will burn away my blood
I will be made up of only beautiful things
and only beautiful things will I be