Blood ink

Pain, hate, loneliness, silence, it was too much.
How much can a mind take?
Every day I fight for feeling oke.
But at the end of the day, I break.
Not in tears. It is anger.
I feel anger because they laugh at me.
I feel strong and try to scare them.
They just laugh in my face.
If I make one mistake, they win.
I have no one around me.
So after a day of battling, I break.
I grab a crowns pen and scratch myself.
I suck the blood that slide of my skin.
The ink is not black or blue.
Its red.
Its blood.
I write a letter whit it.
This is that letter.
You read it.
But you will never get it.

The blood on paper,
Is myself I give to you.