I grasp the pain that binds me
and swallow it—
the chains scraping and ripping
into my neck—
I feel them tear into my chest
and I feel pain grovel in pain as it reaches the acidity of my stomach.
I squirm; for, this pain is agonizing.
But I move because I still can.

This pain binds my soul,
but this pain provides a crimson ink I love to bleed.

This pain is my comfort-
a Home for my words to be conceived.

This pain is my inspiration.

My folly is born from experiences survived
and pain reborn.
My pen drips crimson words
from the pain I am too ashamed to speak of.