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I bleed.
But not with the crass red claret that flows through my veins, no.
My bleeding has a much deeper, richer,
More vibrant pigment.
It possesses all of the colours of the rainbow.
Sometimes, my bleeding goes unseen,
Sometimes it is noticed.
Sometimes it can bring immense joy.
It can be painful,
But it can also be cathartic.
I do not bleed by choice.
I do not self-harm.
I breathe, I live,
I bleed.
My blood splatters.
It spills on the page.
It weeps from my fingertips,
And oozes from my mind.
A black shadow on white vellum.

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