Blood has a peculiar colour
As it drips from my heart,
My mind, my mouth
And elsewhere...
Leaving elegant trails
On wet porcelain.
A caged cacophony;
It\'s not ink that I lack,
But paper.
It\'s always in the dead of night
When those horrors
Come to light,
But they\'re still around
In the daytime too.
They just hide behind bustle,
Normality, vapid smiles.
As the blood creeps
Through my veins by day,
But stains my pillows bright
By night.