When I bleed, I gather all my pain,
And with each drop, I write again.
The story of the source, the root of the ache,
I etch it onto paper, each detail I take.

Not just a scar on my skin to remain,
But a testament on paper, a mark of the pain.
For though one may fade, the other persists,
Proof of the wound, of the trials I've kissed.

No, I don't...