The words run through my veins
innate to me like blood.
Thick, gooey flowing through my head;
my body.
Like when a nurse takes blood to save lives,
I bleed my words onto the paper to save myself.
To save others.
The way a person needs a pint of blood,
I need a poem.
I need words to give me hope.
Words, words,
words.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
The words run through my veins
innate to me like blood.
Thick, gooey flowing through my head;
my body.
Like when a nurse takes blood to save lives,
I bleed my words onto the paper to save myself.
To save others.
The way a person needs a pint of blood,
I need a poem.
I need words to give me hope.
Words, words,
words.
