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Description
A Writer's Blood
The room is dark
Oh so dark
In that room came a man
Sitting at a desk with a pen in hand
Writing on paper that no one has touched
But he
The writer with the cursive style
He writes and writes
Continuously
The lamp beside him is his only light
The pen writes in red
The writer feels deep dread
His heart feels stopped
Time is slow
For he but no one else
Writes with his blood and tears
No one has stopped him
Because no one has cared
There is no such thing as playing fair
So the writer
Writes with what he writes best
The cursive blood drips through the paper
His heart has stopped
He falls forward
No longer trapped in the stillness
No longer trapped in fear
No longer trapped in darkness

Fate
She perceived his words as pain
The pain she wanted to escape
But she hadn’t been able to for so long
That she felt the need to let tears fall
She slammed her back against the wall
Where she could no longer stand
She fell to her knees, hitting her hand
But the pain could not compare
What she thought that wasn’t fair
His words meant nothing to her now
She pressed the knife against her skin
Felt the blood trickle and thin
She pressed it harder
And didn’t realize that he had come
But he was too late
She had already cut her fate

Hazel Eyes
The hazel green tint eyes
Stared through the darkness
They watched every movement
Every moment
With something that could not be known
His thoughts were left to roam the world
As his own became uncurled
His map stretched from sea to shining sea
But they no longer shined
What a great darkness could change in one
Let his body fall
As he cries out in pain and suffering
His thoughts torment his very soul
His soul shrinks and shrivels until
There is no life left in him to fight
There is nothing in him, not even his light
The hazel green tint eyes
Became deathly white