BLOOD, SWEAT, AND INK
Blank page! I begin to sweat.
Should I just vomit now?
Or open a vein to make this whiteness red?
I could rip off my clothes and run, screaming in the street?
Something inside wants out!
I BREATHE
What hatred do I invite? Is it mine or theirs?
Does it matter? Will I be the only one to see the mess?
No one has destroyed me yet.
A barbarian, a writer, and this is my heavy blade.
There is heat. And the stench of destruction.
Yes. There will be blood and drool
and the tears that mark this page.
A sword of inspiration against the entropy.
Fear is death too soon. But, none gets out alive.
Let me use my life in fearful creation.
