Pain is my ink.
I inscribe with my tears
I etch with my blood.
Anger is my muse.
I imprint with my spit
I stamp with my bile.
Life is my palette.
Its hues tint my words
Its shapes give weight.
Intuition is my compass.
It directs my gaze.
Pointing inwards
Then out.
The Writer
Pain is my ink.
I inscribe with my tears
I etch with my blood.
Anger is my muse.
I imprint with my spit
I stamp with my bile.
Life is my palette.
Its hues tint my words
Its shapes give weight.
Intuition is my compass.
It directs my gaze.
Pointing inwards
Then out.