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Markings
This bloodied ink
writes only what it knows
The vein that binds us
runs right through my hert
And the paper drinks tears
But my hand must write more
to tell stories, to cry tales
And so I continue to bleed
not happiness but despair
However there was once a time...
when my pen went dry
And my heart told the stories
of happiness and security
Those were the days you were mine
and the vein that bound my pen and I
secretly tugged your heart to mine
But I fear my dear pen was weak
You could not supply ink; blood
You did not love it
Love me
So my vein came back to the pen
and here I write another story
Of two lovers; friends
one who didn't bleed when cut
and the one who couldnt stop
