I want to rend my flesh in grief,
Make visible my pain.
My sorrow knows of no relief,
Can see no earthly gain
Instead of putting blade to skin,
I'll let this ballpoint bleed,
In hopes that putting hand to pen
Will fill this aching need.
My thoughts escape through inky lines,
My spirit to console.
The pressures of the day's confines
Are too much for my soul.
When tears won't come, the words will rise,
Outlet for my sorrow;
Transforming all my weary sighs
To hope which I can borrow.