Poemia
The Venting App
I
en

I SHED BLOOD ON THE PAPER

I shed blood on the paper and they call it art
I arrange my letters to the rhythm of my heart
I continue writing and so does the depth of the cut
Of my wounds but let me continue playing my part
Who am I to question the heavens why they mended me to be convivial to the world and yet toxic to myself
©iampoetry
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