Velvet

In the darkest hour of the night I pull out my weapon and I begin my war against the world. I begin my war against all that has shamed me and my blood drips on to the canvas in an act of passion and love. I win every war and walk away with velvet wrapped around my neck. I am a writer and I fight with my words.

I begin the damage with trauma. As my nerves stab each other in a game of hope, I cling to the worst memories. The moments where I was abused for my beauty, the times when I shamed myself for who I loved. I cling and I pull and I claw at it in hopes that it will still slam against the glass of my memory and come out victoriously. I live for those moments. 

As the words hit the page

The page becomes a nightmare

A nightmare that only I can enjoy 

I can only enjoy that nightmare because I came out a winner. As the winner of my fears I must live my life knowing what I have done and celebrate it. I must use what I learned from my pain and my pain must inspire people to use their pain in words that will generate continuity.

I stab myself with my weapon until I bleed out and die unto my canvas. That is when my true artistry can shine through. I can only hope that no excess blood has hit the floor, and if it has, I must try my best to pick it up with my velvet.

The feel of velvet is the only thing that keeps me at war with the world. The smoothness gives me hope and it's two shades give me two sides of myself. I carry my velvet in my heart and when I'm at war the only thing to help my get through my pain is my velvet. 

Velvet is my soul.

Velvet is my heart.

Velvet is my brain.