stained

.

the ink spills out of my veins

in thick gushes

small rivers . on paper that doesn’t bleed

the only way

that I can communicate at times

so you don’t rip the words from my skin

but instead you read from my soul

my fingers are stained . but pen is never broken

dripping scarlet tears

turning words into sounds

making you hear a voice

centered around . a barely focused heart

.