My Story

When the pen runs out of ink
I simply jam it in my arm
And continue to write my story

Hanging on every transcending tear
They stain the page
With black memories

As I find myself living
One second after another
Before the blood has a chance to dry

I'm moving too fast
Caught in the past
That I pieced together

With shreds of skin
Maybe it's an illusion
Perhaps I lost it all

When he held the flame over the book
Burning the gold to ashes
And binding my acidic lips to his own.