Words That Bleed

You would have my words
ink spilled on leaf
bleeding through
staining the hard oak beneath.

These words,
torn from my soul
screeching in anguish,
expounding my sorrows
you cannot know me thus.

Oh but why stop
at the gouging of my heart.

Better still,
peel back the furrowed layers
of my cerebral cortex
so that you may pluck
the freshest memories
of your choosing
then savor them
as the day falls gently into night
in the shadows of your darkened room.

Once you have seized
every precious memory
from my gray matter
only then,
will you truly know
if the words that bleed are true.

Only then,
can you own me.

© Michele Markley 2009