ClockworkChild

Spilled thoughts.
Spilled ink.
Flowing, flowing, across the sheet.
Words tumble out, splatter onto the paper; words that can never be said.
Years of blood and tears pour through the pitch blackness of the ink, from the darkness of my mind.
Thoughts are clouded by an obscure veil.
Veil torn. 
Naked mind.
Terrified.
Vulnerable.
Cycle, repeat.
Spilled blood.
Spilled tears.
Dripping down my face, mixing with the pools of ink.
The pen falls, the ink well tips, coating my thoughts and veiling them once more.
A safety cloaks me, a peace of mind.
Sharp pain pierces through; an arrow, a dagger.
Pain.
Clarity. 
Relief. 
Horror.
Cycle, repeat.
Spilled thoughts.
Spilled ink.
Spilled blood.
Spilled tears.
Cycle, repeat.