The answer after being asked,
"How I'm doing?" was caught in my airway.
So I take a blade
and slashed across my throat-
Ink oozed from the seeping wound,
stanzas splashed across each page,
putting a hand upon my chest,
I felt purpose-
ripped it out.
My heart it bleeds,
in truths of me and
in thoughts of you.
The wonderment of what it was
that coursed through my veins,
describing the phenomenon
of how it rains,
or we allow ourselves to express pain.
Losing blood
and shying away from what other's think,
when transfusion began
they gave me ink.
Speaking of honesty,
I promise you-
when fear takes over,
I'll write for me &
I'll write for you.