Filling in the Blanks

In a constant struggle with a blade that left lines upon my arm

Transforming it into a piece of paper that needed to be filled in

The blood that fell splattered on the sheet below

And left me craving a remedy for the pain within

A sudden realization that carving words on paper is safer and effective

than the cimson streaks that would scab over

While the wound in my soul would continue to bleed  

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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