The Gift

Broken
On the inside
Knowing
It can never
Be fixed.
Believing
I can rise
Above it.

Education,
Learn to
Really
Write
Your way
Out of this one.

Crafting
My skills
And crafting
My words.
Let
My blood
Pour out of me.
And onto the page.

Memories
Flooding back
In flashes
Of imagery
And feeling.
Driven
By something magic
When my pen
Touches the paper.

Like a bleeding
Paper cut...
Like an open
And bleeding
Hole from
The spike...
Dripping blood
So quickly
As I try
To lick it all up.
There might
Be a little bit
Of dope in there.
Metallic taste
In my mouth
Still turns me on.
Like a vampire
I like the taste
Of blood.

Lost
In the words
Of that moment
In history.
So caught up
My breath
Quickens
And my heart
Races.
But, my skin
Can only feel
The present.
And my memories
Look more blue
From where I stand
Now.

My paper
Is tinged
In my blood
There are drips
And spatters
All over my story.
My soul spills out
And colors
The paper with both
Good and bad.

Yes, I have
A lot of regrets
But I do not
Regret
For one second
The person
I have become
Through
Each and every
Trial and tribulation.

I do believe
Everything
Happens
For a reason.
Had it been
Any different
I might
Not
Be here...
Writing.
For this gift
Of story
I am blessed.