Release Me - 07/23/10

The pen lifts from the page;
a bit of a smudge,
a loose dash,
a mess of over emotional penmanship;
with an air of finality.
Words without letters,
scrawled too fast to bother.
Blood dripping from the thin papers,
made more and more real
with each new word.
Fill that page,
and the next begins,
already a mess,
drops seeping from the previous one.
The urges,
the thoughts,
the feelings,
they all remain
even after the last word,
but subdued,
shortened,
cut
by the blatant
and obvious expression
and acceptance
of everything they are.
No shame in the hatred.
No terror in the blood.
And less guilt
in the insanity.
The veins on the wrist
of the body
of the hand
that wrote those words
still pop
flashing
like neon blue signs
screaming for attention,
but an effort to ignore them
is more easily made.
The thoughts will return,
of course,
and maybe one day
they’ll remain,
even after the last painful word.