I’m sick
from using my own blood to paint
Soulfully. Screaming
for my ancestors to
burden me.Vein juice
trickling past
the paint. Am I dying?
Intricate
ink un-threading my skin back,
I’m addicted
to consuming ink.
Constantly in
Comas, Laughing
Never
realizing that the composing
is
overdosing. Undrawn. Too many
"you'll die if
you write anymore”.
I'm really interested in this destabilizing of writing--this idea of writing as harmful. We all think of writing as a sort of escape, a way of living and experiencing, but the reality is that writing is an arduous process, exhausting and to a certain extreme, rather self-destructive. Much like a sword without the hilt, one often wields writing but stabs themselves in the process as well.
ReplyDeleteMoving to a more micro approach to the writing, though I like this idea of one's own blood being inadequate to express the soul, I feel like the opening line could be tighter, more powerful. The enjambment doesn't really do much at this time and the word "soulfully" hits my ear oddly. As well, does one ask their ancestors for their burden or to help should his own burden? Vein juice is once again a little odd to the ear, however I love the next moment of self-inquisition then followed by the beautiful imagery of ink. Please pursue this further in the future.
Diamond