not even knowing what type of bullshit im on right now or was right then.. ohhh is that a disclaimer.. whooops
You have been here so many times
that there are no veins left
No one asks you how that is
He goes for your wrist
and strikes a nerve in your forefinger
drawing on callous
and ignorance
No one asks you if you are a writer
the only offense a broken nerve in a forefinger evokes for you
in the millisecond it takes to process the pain is
you unwilling to stand the thought of not being able to hold your lover's hand
This morning you drew blood
with no idea how many times I've been here
Do you wonder why there are no veins left
What are you looking for
and Why doesn't it occur to you
that I am a writer,
creator,
maker,
lover,
that I too draw blood.
Do you have any idea what I do with these hands
and I want to
Will you be a stand in my nerves aren't weak
but this one is
and I struggle at the art of a deceivingly weak capture
The type of grasp that can only be held
by a woman with purpose,
holds the hand her lover,
even if only regrettably hands
the emotions tied to the title.
This morning you drew blood
and leave
you draw blood and left,
and always leave.
And when you come back,
which I know you will,
(cuz you always do)
which I know you will,
(cuz you always do)
There will be still
more blood for you to steal,
more nerves for you to break
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