A MIRACLE IN DISGUISE

I feel the urge to write, to spill all of my blood over papers, building the empire of my sad madness from the flesh of my heart and the unfinished breaths of my soul.
I feel the urge to tear my heart apart and then spread it on paper, write with my blood and tears all the sins I've never confessed, all the fears I've never shown, and paint the pain that troubles my inner peace and haunts my nights and dreams.
My feelings are all entangled. That I no longer know what I truly feel toward anything.