the agony of a writer's heart

You said

you don't want it anymore

because...

because it hurts you;

because...

because it is too bizzare;

because...

because it causes judgement.

Then why

are you still holding on

to it like

it's your favorite pen?

You write with it

ink-spilled words

nobody else

can understand.

It is a language

only we know;

only we speak;

only we convey.

I took it away from you.

And held it tightly in my hand.

I held it tightly!

Gripped it so well

that red thick liquid

comes dripping from my fingers...

slowly

making a mess on my clothes.

I never thought

and never knew

until now that you, my love,

wrote with your blood.

Your precious blood that keeps your heart going.

YOUR HEART!

The only reason I'm still living.

Such passion you have for writing

and yet why does it ALWAYS

have something to do with pain?

Tears fell from my eyes.

Found its way to my blood-stained shirt.

I stared at it for a moment.

When I looked up you were GONE.

You never even said goodbye.