Skin as pale as paper,

Words bleeding upon its surface

Spelling out red lines of bloody truths.

My pen, shedding ink.

My knife, dripping blood.

Crisscrossed lines scar my parchment skin

As I furiously write

Words upon words,

Stanzas upon stanzas.

The story never ending,

The anguish deep within me exploding.

And while the fire in my nerves disappears,

The pain in my mind remains.

The words on the page can fade

But the meaning is left behind in my heart.

The scars in my skin may vanish,

But the scars in my soul stay with me.

However,

The stanzas on the parchment

Ease the desire for

Stanzas on my skin.

Poetry won’t take the pain away,

But it will take the longing

From my mind

For the burning

In my veins.