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.
