Guess that did the trick
My pen, scrapes against the skin.
Looking, searching, for the motivation to begain.
It causes it to turn red, the most common words of all.
Pure and bliss, as others would say, it's just the tip.
It digs a little deeper, cause there to be scrapes, and raw skin, but no blood yet.
Things become more real, advanced, few people can't understand.
The words hurt, and are true, but still capable to comprehend.
People who do, see memories that don't miss.
I stab myself with the pen, now pulling out chunks.
Using my blood to write the rest.
But my blood is too thick, so I shed some tears to add to the mix.
Yes now, my words begain to fit.
My life poetry, story. Tears, blood, and sweat.
To write a masterpeice, I guess that's what did the trick.