Long long ago
In the land of dreams
I came upon a figure
Who said to me

I know not what you seek
But what you dream
And in my hands
I hold
A sword
And a pen
Both dangerous tools
Meant to achieve
And made to bleed.
Tools made
For reaching dreams.
So choose wisely child
For you need only one
To find the path
That calls to your blood.

So with a nod of my head
And the stretch of a limb
I suddenly held
The deadliest of tools
Within my grip.
Then closed my eyes

And bled.

A blue chair
And pink crocs
And a somewhat average dark dot
Floating in an unfamiliar sea
Of varied white.

I bled.

Two tear streaked faces
Reflecting each other
One of the past
Reflecting the future
And one of the future
Reflecting the past
Both stuck in the present
of then
And the expectation
Of the unknown inevitable later.

I bled.

A seed of knowledge
With a steady growth
Met with the barest kiss
Of a knife.
Just a brush of the lips
So faint
That its print
Was barely there.
Yet the fear
was very there.

I bled.

The cacophony of voices
That tore through the wall
Between my heart
And my mind
Flooding my world
With all my deepest, darkest
Thoughts and fears

I bled.

A room
Filled
with so many toys
Meant to pacify children
So insignificant
Compared to
that black hairband
I temporarily wore
Like a lifeline around my wrist.

I bled.

I bled and bled.
And still I bleed.
Forever bleeding
And forever wishing
I had chosen the sword.