Written In BloodWritten in Blood
Words bleed on to paper so well, when it is dark on the inside.
The paper is always there, when there is no one to confide.
Light is irrevalent the paper knows what is felt.
And dishes it out in words, before the feeling is delt.
Contorting to your mind, and extracting its thought.
Creating beautiful things, which you figured you could have not.
Laying down pieces, like they were present the whole time.
It's interesting, in complete darkness, things can still appear so divine.
Yet you fail to realize, for your eyes have not adjust.
To the darkness before you, so you react as you must.
And you still create, for the sake of letting go.
Ones decipher as they read along, but they will truly never know.
The pain that you, and only you bear.
So you love the paper, because it will always be there