Red Ink

I do not bite my tongue or cave/ No I will not ever behave/ It is never myself I wish to save/ For it is only pain in which I crave 

It is not enough to merely survive/ I must have it real to feel alive/ So I maintain this pain I contrive/ And will write in blood till I arrive 

I do not dull the knife I dip the blade/ And grip the sheets of a bed I made/ A stabbing slip for the betrayed/ While I bite my lip and start to fade


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