idk

still writing.. (work in progress)

The words drop from her lips like the the blood from her wrist. The ink drips from from her skin. Every slice from the blade is a poem that is made. She writes through the agony she faces each day. A poet through her pain. When word feels dark like she no longer bleeds what will leak is ink. The universe turns into words. A secret power she hold within. When things seem grey she colours them in with the ink from her wrist. She paints the world in a whole new light. The dark highlights she changed to white. Till the whole new world seems just about right just a little more bright. Call it a power but the secret is it's just a coping mechanism. The world she once saw as grey now pink. So she continues to write each and every day, to make the world just little less grey. So until the world shifts from grey to pink. Like the colors she makes in the universe she creates. When you ask what she'll do she will say I'm writing. Still writing..