Threaded in Blood & Ink

A collection of randomness,
Tied together by a thread of emotion and voices.

Each of us—
A curated work of seasons, people,
And a writer’s ink that never dries.

I love you.
Sometimes, I feel it like a fever,
Burning beneath layers of rejection and hurt.

Only you see me.
See me as art,
Not as a product of war, crime, and de facto truths.

Fragile, this collection of mine—
Yet full of thorns.
Untie me, and you'll have blood on your hands,
Your hand tattooed in my blood.