its time to murder my pen and let the blood drip from the tip
sign her life away in ink and let you think I was sick
manufactured blood leak's in a natural flow to create whats originally dead
all though it appears blue at first glance its spiritually red
shakey wrists moves this dieng pen thru it last stages of lifes trouble
I relise each stroke of her body the bleeding doubles
needing to induldge in each drip of her body to get my message across
But every time I try to express my mind a lesson is lost
The feeling of her blood touches my hand staining my skins perspective
This bloody soul is so longing for a new life not neglected
blood forms a formation some sort of subliminal message tryna be told
As I remove the pen from paper the blood continues to move
Tryna tell me somthing in life that may cause my heart rapidly sooth
but its more a perspective of somthing I cant visualize
pain of my pen seems true each movement her wicked blood makes
recline back relax, Im here till the end no matter how long it takes
her blood struggles to form what she tries to speak in a message of love
she seems in agony like a devils death bed's been made
red ink seems to rapidly flow like blood from a agonizing suicides blade
I take a glimps away for no more than a second when i see
lifes death defying desperate question of what my pens is asking me
tear's slips down my red face,I know I cant speak or lie
the letters on my page have formed intact, my pens asking to die
*snaps pen*