Those Who Bleed

I've stopped counting

I broke my vocabulary free, suddenly I see

Why everyone is okay with being numb all the time

It's easier to feel nothing, than everything

Now, I realize

There are those who are beautiful, and those who bleed

You leave behind yourself  in billions of things

I chose paper as my poison, words as my sword

Because everytime I come back home

And by home, I mean to pen and paper

I bring along everyone too, everything

So I become paper-see-through

All the stories I see in you

They can be burdens, If you bleed as I do

It's hilarious, when you ask if I love it

I don't love breathing, I do it

I call some things "love"; how foolish

Love is words on paper

I've learned fullness

Because I can queitly leave traces of absolute insanity 

On everything I dare touch

Yes, even now, on you

This poem is about: 


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