My emotion spills through my ink.
I give you my own blood willingly for you to sample.

Alas, I soon harden and set.
I fashion my own noose
and suddenly I cannot move anymore.
Bounded, in a singular form
I am finalised.

Strung up high I swing on a pendulum
And you take an almighty great swing.
I burst and my soul leaks
Fierce reds, dazzling opals and luscious fuchsias…
…but sadly all you see are rusty browns,
decaying oranges, monotonous greys.

I close as you open.
Once I am in your hands,
Once you peal through my layers,
I am no more.

By Emmie Lois