Written in an unknown script
you understand it was done in blood.

Bleeding onto the page a sacrifice is made
in secret trust.

Begone with the notions that everything
was normal once that first word or picture
was viewed with your eyes.

Stripped bare like the knife that extracted
the first ink to be born on the page.
Severed lust.

The inscription now hung so high
in your mind of disillusion.

The strange fingers that you wondered
about grasping the blade to write are now
your own as you add your own ink
to this book of forgotten impulses.