For the writers

Inhale deeply

I need it,

this ink,

that crawls 

down my arm,

wrapping its

tendrils around

my soft hand,

intertwining 

with my veins.

To breath

I must inhale

this liquid terror,

this magical mist,

which both controls

and gives freedom,

unasked for,

but not unwanted.

To speak,

is harsh,

like sandpaper,

coursing up my throat,

grating away all

tenderness.

To live is impossible,

without this black thorn

branding my side,

I accept it and exhale,

through cracked, 

broken fingertips,

inhale deeply,

always drink

its dreams