words of truth.
in letters black.
but physical feelings.
they do lack.
touching the mind.
they do this right.
but do not save.
the heart from plight.
not quill, but blade.
his wrist the jar.
the ink is red.
first words, then scars.
the bladen quill
and the skin-made lid.
relieve the heart.
of it's liquid.
the heart is now -
just a bit more empty.
so he packs away.
his stationery.
