I bleed on a paper

When my blood doesn't clot

When there's no one to wipe

My bloody tears off

Some things

Are hard to tell

Or even listen

But they flow, on paper

Sometimes

It's hard to think

To give a thought

To what we felt

It's even harder

When you know the thought

But don't know what it is

The hardest part is

To bleed it out as it is

On a piece of paper

Just to feel relieved

Every poet

Is a patient and the cure , of this diseased world

Who bleeds, collects, and donates

His blood to other patients

Who can't do so