Literature
Blood
Blood
I'm drowning in a melancholic feeling spurned on by the love that I feel towards those such persons whom my soul sings for, whom my heart beats for.
My heart burns so strongly that it can do nothing but hurt. The all consuming pain that is a love that which is unable to be followed through.
A bleeding heart romantic in the truest sense of the name. It's as if the cuts in my heart themselves bring forth the poetic sense, perhaps poetry is my blood, or vice versa.
Blood that is poetry, similar to the life of a pen. The more it writes, the less it has, the less it can give. And just as ink, blood too can bleed; and must bleed, if o