Bleeding on a Page

The idea that a writer bleeds on a page is insane.

No one writes in red ink. Mostly black.

And blood is never black.

But what if it is?

What if it only looks red to others?

And when they cannot see it…
it becomes something else entirely.

A darker kind of bleeding.

Internal.

So the outside world can still say:

“They didn’t see it coming.”

Because they didn’t.

The idea that a writer bleeds on a page is insane.

Because who would choose this willingly?

And yet so many of us do.

Which only proves one thing:

most of us are bleeding already.

Bleeding where no one sees.

Or perhaps worse
bleeding because no one sees.