Literature
Lines
Pain cries to be let out,
Bright anger dripping against pale helplessness,
I can neither scream nor shout,
With such an eloquent voice as this.
Sharp relief comes to me,
With crimson marks carved to stand against them all,
And my soul is plain to see,
When I feel so very worthless and small.
Hurt escapes with each line,
A valid punishment for my every sin,
I release this anguish mine,
Rather than to keep it all within.