From my veins into the pen go the words. Each line filled with my own essence. Like cuts in the flesh, the implement draws out into the paper, leaving behind a piece of my soul. The crimson letters that are filled with my life's blood reflect the inner most parts of myself. From passion to hate and many things in between, I write myself into the work. Through the pen that saps the life from my veins so that my blood flows from it's tip and lets the world see what I think and feel.