ink is blood
and this pen is wired up to my heart,
rather than pop another antacid
i’m gonna bleed onto this page
my anxiety, alienation, and ambition

i say ambition
maybe that is the wrong word
it is possible to be told all your life
“you will do great things”
but to be so caught up in your head
so dominatingly lonely
that you would throw it all away
just to be “normal”

i say alienation
maybe that is the wrong word
it is possible to be so seized
by self-doubt and self-hate
that you convince yourself
you are beyond love,
a self-labeled pariah
you distance yourself from others
because that is what you deserve
but deep down all you want
is the intimacy of genuine connection

i say anxiety
maybe that is the wrong word
it is possible to be filled with constant dread,
emotional heartburn
it pervades your entire existence
good moments turn bad
bad moments turn worse
and no amount of antacids will ever cool it,
you get used to feeling like shit
and forget there is any other way to live

so with this pen wired up to my heart
i'm gonna bleed
because i don’t know another way
to make this pain leave me.