I weep and scream.
I claw my skin raw.
I bleed and die.
My hair is torn from my head.
No I am not crazed,
or at least i wasn't.
the abilty of my words is fading.
I do not meet with your approval.
You mean shit to me.
Fuck you and your judgement.
I need to write for me.
Without it I am driven to blood.
To bleed the hurt out of me,
to feel something besides
the flow of ink and blood are linked.
The two could kill me
I choose the ink.
Write damn you write.
I cannot be stonic and still.
I could die,
prove you live. HEART BEAT.
I am paniced and crying.
PLEASE do not leave me skills.
My hands grow weak.
Cut arms cannot hold the pen.
If you push down too hard,
you slice the muscles.
I read that somewhere.
then it hits.
Inspiration,
hard between the chest.
My reason to live
Ten minutes too late.
