If and when I can't shed tears, and
It happens now and then,
Through the years
That clear and harmless way to feed
Your bitter sodium pain to the floor
Nothing shed but flows instead
Through this pen I bleed
The ink might as well be red, it is
Black,
As my suffering,
As the ducts in the corners of my
Eyes so dry
But meaningless letters scratched onto blank slates
Are formed into shapes crafted only because of You
My wounded soul seeps through this
Ball point knife I removed from my back
You did it again, as well I knew You would