Blood

I sit apart from everyone else,
I open not just the eyes that drip Crimson,
but also my Veins, that flow rivers of blood,
My Blood perhaps shall reach you,

Knife in hand
Think about drunk mom
I put it to my wrist
Think about screwy life
Start puting preasure on it
Thinking about dead dad
My demon posesses me
Knife presses into my skin

For a creative purpose we are told ,
to write of what many think is plentiful an bold .
To write about nothing but peace might just do,
out of my soul I shall pen lines of a varied brew.

Today I met the spirit of death,
A pale man still so dark,
His eyes reflected sadness set-
Into his indentured heart.
Blood trailed out behind him,
Drenching his black cloak,