Before I Ran Out of Blood

I've been writing countless poems all my life With tears as my medium, unpigmented ink While sulked in the chair where you used to sit on Words became traces of what was once an unbreakable link. Done! But the final outputs turned out impalpable, Unreadable, even my tear-stained eyes started to bleed Half-crazy, miserable, palpitating over black coffee How long have I been a prisoner of this cranky bed? So, I tried to draw blood again from my pale wrists And wrote my dreams on the coffee-smudged pad Of you and me dancing under the pale moonlight T'was but a vague dream, surreal but so sad! As tears outlined my scrawny cheeks, I wrote this: "I've been writing poems for you but, Please read this before I run out of blood..." My bad! No apologies, I know I've hurt you a lot.