Pen to the paper

I’m twisted I’m tense I’m screwed up in a ball So I grab my pen and wait for words to form The ink is my relief flowing onto the page I start to unfold I release my rage My hand is moving of its own free will I’m ironing out I’m standing still My new release, this seems safer Words written down rather than blood on paper Than razor on skin, than cutting too deep, Now I have more than my scars to keep So I thank the paper and I thank the pen And say goodbye to that blade again