Poem #17

People bleed red, I bleed ink.
My words are what’s living in my veins,
my love can only be described with pain.

I believe love never sticks around to stay
because I have verses yet to write and
I’ve never done that from a happy place.


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10 replies on “Poem #17”

For me, the pain drives the beauty from deep inside revealing the joy of the passion hiding within. Expressing is the blood of suffering flowing upon the world taking form in the beauty of being human.

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