no title yet

i feel right now like all humanity contains the pinnacle of joy, the boil of anger, the void of despair and perhaps there is something it trying to capture it all. this is a dark side of my writing but it's me speaking of why i write.

You don't think my lines beautiful?
Perhaps ugly is an honest
new version of beauty
So watch me as i cut
myself wide open on this page
spilling inked, red letters
and hoping you enjoy every syllable
at least there's something genuine
in seeing how dark i can go.
How do we know ourselves
if we don't dissect and
investigate our pieces?
So take this pen and leak like a sieve.
I promise the point feels divine.