I write from the depths of my soul.
Dip my pen into my heart and ,
let the blood drip on the pages,
colouring them crimson.
It shrieks ‘Danger’, beware of,
the ramblings of the crazy writer,
she’s demented and insane, beware.
My writings are tainted with my,
clotting, congealing blood,
hence the stench of grief and pain.
You can smell my rotting flesh and,
dried up stinking blood.
And you are assailed by the whiff,
of my despair and agony.
With each stroke of my pen,
I bleed some more onto the pages,
staining them, soaking them ,
with my lonely outpourings,
my tragic heartbreak,
my despondent feelings,
and poignant emotions.
I cry while writing and the ink,
runs, smudging the pristine papers,
with a tinge of sorrow, grief and,
unbearable agony and ecstasy.
Agony of heartache and ecstasy of Love.
Lucks aka Sulekha