cutting a vein and dipping the pen in

do you write,

she asks.

not really, i tell her.

i mean i sit down

and put my fingers onto

the keyboard

and stuff appears,

but is it writing. who knows.

it's like cutting

a vein

and making the blood run

out.

the whole process

is not very clear.

i write about yesterday,

today,

tomorrow.

and what lies in between.

sometimes i bite,

sometimes i weep.

and other times it's just

a joke

i know that i need to tell.

but it's all fiction

and has nothing to do

with me.