Four Lads Stacked In A Trench Coat

My Pen Gently Bleeds

Take a look at these poems
and tell me what you see.
Is it a man-shaped
         notebook,
as it appears to me?
Sometimes these words
mean something and
maybe it's just pages
that got torn apart
by too many letters.
I don't always understand
the same as you, but
I know when you do
the way a twin may
         physically feel
their sibling's pain.
This is me, bleeding.
Open and out
for all to see.
I'm buying and selling
these feelings and
many times, I can't
         keep up,
to the point my fingers
stiffen into
a love I can't unfold
or a control I'm unable
         to hold.
My wish is for you
to read me like gauze,
soaking over my wounds
while allowing me to breathe.
You're the weep to my seeps;
the learning to my mistakes.
A diversion of my inversion.
I don't know why;
I just gently bleed.