My tears are sleepy words
That slither from my eyes
They only live a short while
Before the story dies

I bleed onto the paper
Like a wound onto the soil
Each new pain is a beauty
Each new cut is a toil

And I'm composed of books
Of poems and stories old
I breathe into each one
With dying breath, I'm told

With my lungs like stanzas
And my eyes like a page
Poems hide inside me
Behind my rib cage

And as I tip my chin back to the rain
And feel the blood wash down my face
And know each sleepy word
Has somehow found its place

They'll sail far away
To places I can't will
And the words that I have said
Some heart will surely fill

And as I look up to the sky
I know tomorrow I'll be dead
But  for the words I bleed upon the ground
You'll read what I should have always said