I could haemorrhage every verse that
                                                   pains me.
Lines that penetrate deeper than
                                                what is penned.

Lying motionless on the wounds
                                            that never heal,
confusion of what is my pain
                                            and written verse.

I have hollow veins, nothing more to say,
                                       altercations of a heart and self.
Looking beneath, I have scrawled a thousand
                                       pains but there is nothing is seen..