I think I write because this Hemorrhage is always happening Inside me. Red love pools in my hands All day long
But I think that if I can stuff it Neatly into these little clear bags I might be able to transfuse Some of the hope Back into these stubborn veins So that I won't bleed to death.
I write because I have to Because if I don't This agony will kill me.
And I'm not being fascetious Or poetic or metaphorical
This agony, this despair, this Series of puncture wounds
Will cause me to exsanguinate
And if I don't write You will have to bring White roses To my funeral So as not to embarrass The pale spectre Of my body.
~CRH March 2012
Note: Feel free to share my work with others but please make sure to use my name if you do.