I Bleed Ink

My pen connects

With paper white

As blood runs out,

As black as night.

You see, my blood-

My life runs here.

Every day is like a book without and end
Each page is clearly written and carefully penned
Like a roundabout without stopping

Measures

Some poets measure words
like ingredients in a recipe.

Some choose words
from a candy store,
a bit too sweet,

or food

I must write, I always have

Once to record my childhood, sad

My only expression was paper and pen

My light flickers dimly but I press on,

rabidly, craving your touch.

The cold, black ribbon touches my skin,

wrapping over