When love is torn and spiked with drink
I tend to write with my blood ink
Thrashing the words across my page
In a uncontrollable and mindless rage
The pens like a dagger, thrust in ones back
Across a page of darkest black
Cutting and slashing my words like weapons
Unleashing all my built up aggression
Cutting and chilling to the bone
The words on the page are the same on the phone
I should really think before I write
And sleep off my rage through the night
For hand on heart I apologise to you
And everything I put you through
The blood in my pen has now come to an end
And with it a very close and loving friend
