I was born sick and poetry is the ink of my disease

Was born blind but art gave me vision

I am the bleeding pen.



Wounded for my thoughts

Betrayed by my own darkness

Freedom dressed in bondage

I am the bleeding pen.



Crying out for the poor

Banging on heaven’s door

Noise dressed in silence

I am the bleeding pen.



Jokes sound tragic

Reality turns magic

Sanity dressed in madness

I am the bleeding pen .



In pain still I rise

Till my fire bring forth ice

My Blood dressed in ink

I am the bleeding pen



My blood shall tell

Its thickness shall spell

My thoughts and pain

The change I aim

The picture I frame

I am the bleeding pen



Critics may cause me sore

My soul might never be pure

But I came I saw

I conquered I tore

I am the bleeding pen



Clean my blood with every blank page

A thousand pages can’t stop the bleeding

I must keep bleeding if that’s the only price

Enough time to rest when I die

I am the bleeding pen.

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