Jan 2020
Blood wells out like a fountain,
a spring up on a mountain.
The emotion is carried by the stream,
Flooding my senses, making life a dream.
My mind was once again, guiltily freed.
So full of transcendent lust,
I hungrily watched myself bleed.
My blood is my last article of trust.
a spring up on a mountain.
The emotion is carried by the stream,
Flooding my senses, making life a dream.
My mind was once again, guiltily freed.
So full of transcendent lust,
I hungrily watched myself bleed.
My blood is my last article of trust.
In this case, a vacuum is like space, a place devoid of something. There was a time where I thought I could only trust the thoughts I had when I was bleeding. I was... odd... back then.
