Bleeding Ink

A somewhat rambling poem questioning my expression.

Ink stains the page

As words bleed from my soul

Pinned to the paper

By their weight

But they might as well

Be written in a foriegn language

For all the good they've done

No one understands them

There are times when I don't either

What was the purpose

Of the bloodletting?

To share, or merely to express

What is a part of me?

When a shadow falls over the page

Will it be trapped?

Or will it float away?

Will the weight of the words

Pin the shadow to my soul?

If so, could anyone help?

Only if they understood

The language of my souls expression

Reviews

[Laura Storm]

Everyone questions themselves through out their life. As for whether or not they find an answer is up to them. It's a great piece and a great way to express your uncertainty.