It Is Written

The pen politely asks my wrist to dance.

I wrap my parched fingers around its neck, and clench my fist to quench my thirst.

My mind never outgrows the delusion that my two realities are really one and the same because it finds comfort in the idea that it can escape one to embrace the other. As though it can never belong to any world without ever getting the feeling of simply having had enough. So I succumb to the promiscious pen and we tango down a line, as I lose my mind to gain what is mine:

...freedom only found in pages. 

With this barrel of ink bleeding past my fingertips, I lay you down: the manipulative, confused and confusing of my two worlds. I've lost my freedom to you but today I gain it back because, I bleed in colors and textures you can never wash away. I bleed blue and black, I bleed front and back, cursive and CAPS…

I bleed intact.