I am not human with the frailties of what every
sentiment falls on my thoughts that I pen in black
but in a colour blind effect is written in red.

As is the pain that I etch-a sketch in wobbly lines
showing that drawing my emotions isn't as perfect
as I want it to be.

But still I draw a picture with words in how I'm feeling
beneath every collage of moulded words. But like paper
I split between the effect of what happens midway.

Read upon what I spend on every word and see that
I'm just as you human, humanity in frailties that spill
in black, but bleed my emotions on every single new page.