These words pour out of me.
Like the very blood in my veins.

Though, my blood is red.
The words on this paper are black.

They reflect the color of my life.
Standing out. Declaring my despair.

Some are scattered thoughts.
Others are secret dreams.

All of which are my heart.
My very soul.

If I keep writing, will I eventually be empty?
Will there be anything left inside of me?

I write to heal myself.
It’s my therapy.

If I heal myself, will my writing be any good?
My pain is all I have.

I’ve been down for so long I don’t remember when the sun shined.
The dark clouds of doubt, loneliness, and pain rule the day.

“Smile” they tell me.
“You have such a beautiful smile”

My once bright green eyes look grey in this light.
My once clean soul looks dirty.

I pray for the night to come.
The darkness will hide my impurities.

This paper is my Dorian Gray painting.
Maybe the more of my pain I write on here, the cleaner my actual spirit may become.

If I keep writing my pain, will I become the man I once was?
Will I be able to smile? Laugh? Love?

Will I look up at this sky and see the sun?
Will I welcome the warmth, and squint from the brightness?
Or will I just keep peeling more layers
Just to realize that the pain underneath hurts even more?

I continue to write. I can feel my soul twisting.
Like a rag being wrung out.

Every time I write one of these I think I have wrung myself dry.
Only to find that I absorb more pain.

On this paper, I can see myself clearly.
The scars on my spirit.

The written reflection is twisted
Like a fun house mirror.

The scars are real.
They remind me that I have lived this life.

“Why do you do this” they ask me.
“For them”, I reply.

For you, who read these.

If by writing my soul down for you, my pain can heal ANY of you,
Then it has all been worth it.

There is a saying; “In this whole world, you may be just one person…
But to one person, you may be the whole world”

I look back on this paper.
It’s covered with ink, words, phrases, and errors

Just like my soul.
All of our souls.

If we could all write our spirits down, what would we see?
Some white clean spots? Smudges? Errors?

Yes, but what else in the midst of all that?
Words? Phrases? That when properly crafted, create something beautiful.

Yes this light shows my faults,
But this paper shows my spirit.

Some day I will put all of my soul back together,
On that day, I will create something beautiful.

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