I could write it at my desk and no one would know or care.
I am at work with nothing to occupy myself but this attempt.
You might peek over the cubical wall or even snoop lightly over my shoulder
You may or may not understand but that is not what is important.
Is it?
Not really.
What is important is that I am here waiting to complete my assignment but I have become bored.
Made myself busy enough not to realize that there is blood from my heart dripping
From your mouth onto the desk below the crimson morbid herald
And onto my skin where I still continue to write as if nothing was wrong.
More droplets fall as soon as it drips to the floor merciless upon the carpet.
I look to my pen with it’s fading ink that refuses to revive it’s life for my intent.
A buzz prompts an end and I put on a cheerful smile while speaking.
Thank you for calling.
How can I help you?
I say these words as my pen plunges into a piece of my heart dripping on the desk
Sucking the blood as if it were an ink of its own and I watch both forms slowly pass on.
I finish my service as the shadow of you lurks elsewhere and once done I choose another pen.
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