I take a pen

I cut my wrists and bleed

My life flows onto the page

Bright red, so terribly wonderful

The mountainous peaks and unending vales of my pysche

Stretch out in a flowing river of ink

Of blood

Of my immortal soul

Of me.

I paint the portrait with hues that can not be seen

And sing with the silent voice of trees that have since been felled.

I pull you in, I take you down

I want you to drown in an ocean of ink and paper,

To become lost in the borderless forests cultivated within my mind

I want to pull you into my skull,

So you can see me how I truly am.

I want you to know how truly alive I am.