Ink Blood Writer- by; the damned

His hand lay on the table
Next to it was the knife
Blood dripped off to the floor

He lay on the floor
Cradling his arm
Now 6 inches shorter than before

The ink well was red
The pen and nib were on the page
Tools used for his journal
Composed of liquid life

The words read easily
The ideas were clear
Each page resembled the next
Except this one was written in blood

His right hand held his left wrist
He cried on the floor
On the table his left hand remained
Useless now, never to be returned