To Bleed Through a Pen

If you read my poems

You still wouldn’t understand

All you would see is my blood on the paper

Splotches and words bled from my head

Through my fingers

Hurting myself to heal

Better before worse before better again

Death before hearse but dead nevertheless

My writings are the stories of my death

And my way to possible resurrection

Bleeding out on paper

And while you may taste it

It will never run through your veins

My blood is my blood

You may know

But you will never understand