Scribbled away

Before she wrote, she wanted to write

But in her pain her soul was for moments on end slain

and she would leave, and by a euphoric womanly form be replaced.

 

For stark raving hurt, she craved

 

Then, as though mother nature had her cry hearkened, 

the sand would from the hourglass break free, the clock would chime and the second hand would ominously tick,

and her tears would at the same pace flow.

That it is time to painfully heal, she would know

 

And about that journey she would write. 

And she would walk with her pain,

and at its pace, scribble away

one open wound at a time.