Leave it to me
To think so deeply.
Words come and go;
Breathe them in.
Write them out.
With a click of the pen
I slit my wrists
To bleed out my creativity.
I murdered notebook sheets
with a smooth rich ink.
In this emotional suicide
I gave my life
so that my words could breathe
and tell my story.
Life exists
among this bloody calligraphy.
They found my body
suffocated by my soul:
an empty pen that gave its life
so that my words could merely

This entry was posted in Poetry.

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