My words are

blood, hissing incarnidine

upon the page,

a hot splattering

weld of self and sorrow

upon the page,

a calligraphy of joy & pain

upon the page,

a click of a blister beetle

burning my skin

upon the page.

Writing is more violent

than I might like.

It is more like welding

than I would like:

Strap on the dark vision.

Set the metal plates in place.

Strike a spark.

Draw the bead.

Write.