Bleeding Ink

I bleed this ink, it wells up from the core.
In a panic, fury, frenzy to heal a damaged soul.

No one taught you how to bleed, neither did they me,
the words drop. Drop. Drop. Drop…onto my paper

The shape of my puddle grows. I keep my head down,
I will not drown, my ballpoint takes the pressure.

I burst out in tears of saline prose; syllables and vowels,
And more words appear, until the blood runs clear.

And there is nothing more to say.