I used to write on walls (true poem)

My pain
so real
so intense
it threatened me

the blade
so fine
so sharp
it called to me

so i took the blade
and drew my memories
in my wrist
in a beautiful color

i used to cut

my words
so angry
so unspoken
they would not leave my mind

the walls
so plain
so blank
they called to me

so there, i put my words
blade in hand
blood on wrist

the walls, soon covered in bloody words

my wrists, soon covered in bloody pictures

the blade, soon covered in blood

i used to write on walls

until

i saw what i was doing

now this is written on the walls in my blood:

i will not write on walls
i will not write on walls
i will not write on walls...

but this cannot be stopped

for i am a blood artist
and i write on walls

(i remember, i was five or six when i started to write on my walls. but then i saw what i was doing when i was ten, and since then I've stopped. my reason for cutting is explained in my poem Mommy dearest)