The ink bleeds my pains and sorrows. The paper captures every ounce of ink. I don't need to cut myself because the Pen Cuts as Well as a Knife. It's better to spill my soul rather than have blood to worry about. I unravel my wild side into the pages. Chaos spreading. Anger ebbing into tiny flames. I pass my literary codes to those that I trust. Warning them of the flood of rage that is to happen. I keep those I love safe from the beast within. I am the kind of beast that needs to be understood in order to feel loved. Understanding between two humans is the intimate thing people do. I would rather have my mind and heart understood than be glanced at as though I am a crazy person. I may start a wildfire of scorching rage all around me until I rise out of the ashes like a phoenix. Vulnerable, exhausted, bright in the light and full of colors. I keep my distance and my silence until all of the anger is out of me.