Ink.
Shake me!
criticize me
shake me, and
stab me with pointed garnets
My blood has been
replaced ­–
it has dried and evaporated
into my skin
and now my veins pump
ink.
Creativity
is
me. I am the pen.
Tell me what to write
and I will dance and sing
I am the
instrument,
Hermes's apprentice,
the other Bronte sister.
Watch me
dance in
ink.
Watch me
make a story
with the ink that is my
blood.
After all,
who needs blood anyway?
I can live off of ink alone.
Blood never created much.
I can get drunk off ink.
It's amazing.
Can you?
You can't.
You get headaches.
Ink doesn't give you headaches,
because the hangover
never begins.
You should
try it.
Throw out your blood.
Stuff your body
with ink.
Devour it
drink it.
Shake me!
Make my creativity bloom.