When you write, your emotions start to stab you
Then you bleed with words unveiled by the beauty of your pain
You sweat with beads of warm memories hanging from your past
That slowly trickle down your neck choking you until your eyes water with the love that has long been washed away
When you write, you become vulnerable, exposed as you strip down your mind
But there's freedom in writing, a sense of joy that somehow, somewhere, a message is getting across,
To break a heart, rebuild a soul or tear down walls.
When you write, you bleed but you're still alive.