Poetry, PTSD and Awareness

Fresh Ink

The pen’s tip is like a knife slicing onto paper, releasing fresh ink that bleeds into the parchment. It paints a picture of what’s overflowing in my veins. It’s the emotion. The pain. The suffering. All of it, flowing in fresh ink. My lifeblood. My essence pouring out, screaming into oblivion, hoping someone, anyone can hear me. Can you? I’m here. I’m bleeding words. And I won’t stop until I’m purged. Spent. Exhausted. But it’s not long before boils over, overwhelming me again and I’m itching for that blade to scratch once more.

© Sarah Doughty

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Fresh Ink”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s