Bleeding on the Blank Page

She says, "What's this you're showing me?

A book of bad poetry, boy.

It's not so enlightening. That's not writing,

It's just typing, now, boy."

Hits like a smack.

She reads the bones of my face like a map

That traces the hundred year flood.

Now I'm choking on a mouthful of blood.

That bitter copper taste can't be erased.

I'm bleeding on the blank page.

Nothing gold can stay

'cause she shines it up and grinds it back down.

No heart beating in it,

Tell me, where is your blue-eyed boy now?

Rip off the gloves.

Cold and sharp like a scalpel your touch.

It's death by a million paper cuts.

Every little drop's adding up.

Blood splattered and stained won't ever wash away.

I'm bleeding on the blank page.

My skin's getting thick, eyes getting wide, hide's getting tough.

Every small sacrifice is give 'til it hurts.

It's never enough.

I'm bleeding on the blank page.

Hits like a smack.

She reads the bones of my face like a map

That tells the history of the hundred-year war.

I'm stretched thin as a bad metaphor.

Her words cut like blades.

The marks ain't gonna fade.