Scalpel-Edged Fountain Pen

I wish I could just cut open my temples and let it all spill out (2026).

Scalpel against my skin.
The cold of the blade,
Slices into my temple,
And is warmed by a sticky
Thickness of blood.

Words spill out
In jumbled-up pieces of nonsense
Scattered across the table
And soaked in red.

The red, scrambled words
Ooze onto my pages.
They mix and scatter and breed
Into unfiltered pieces of me
That you can read.