Born to Die, Hurt to Feel

I do not know who I am.

I have lost myself

Too afraid to stare

At my own reflection

Too afraid to stare

At my blood ridden hands

Too afraid to realize

That I have murdered the girl

Within myself to feel

The hurt that keeps me writing.

It is not the ink of my pen

That spills all secrets, but the blood

flow between my fingertips,

Rushing to give form to another life:

Words that shall never die

Even if my body may.