Lancing the poisons

The act of writing is an

Act of unblocking

Stopped emotions, thoughts,

That are wound too tight

To clearly see.

This pen to paper bleached

A trail of blood letting that

Drains the Soul of those

Wicked bound up toxins

As leeches did.

And so, for better or worse

This ink scrawls its way along

Sheets of blank wondering

About what comes next.

What comes next?