Letters are distraught
As ink is injected onto
Paper resembling the
Tense, white knuckles.
Red, black, green, blue,
It doesn't matter if the
Writer's brain drinking
Ebony blood finds the
World gray in trails of
Bliss, for weakness
Shouted with lungs
Transporting dust and
Needles cannot exhale
Enough credit for
The harsh willpower
Carrying burdens
Molded not from liquid
Clay, but rather moistened
Soot and charcoal.
The hands commanding
The very pens dirtying
Fingertips drag messy
Shots across the veins
In notebooks that deliver
Some kind of liberation
With side effects worthwhile
When short breaths of
Freedom unlock
Ravaged doors creating
An enclosure filled with
Shreds offering too
Many damn decisions.
And the attraction change
Offers to lure those blind
With desperation to a
Brink only they can see
Triggers the buzz that burns,
The tear-jerking comfort
Worth every drop of sanity
Until the words run dry,
Only to leave behind
A shivering pen.