Bleed

Words on paper I had written so many,

All of them I have thrown away.

Hoped to show you all one day;

but blind as you are, they are better that way.

My wrist bleeds on the papers across,

blotting the words I was writing today.

Meant to change the world with my thoughts;

all I could write was letters frayed.

When your sight returns,

I will be long gone;

save the trouble of looking this way.

Try if you must, I do not care

Thoughts of you will have faded away.