It Hurt to Write

The pen burned her hand,

It hurt to pick it up,

But she must.

She must write

Even if it took everything she had

Even if it broke her heart

Even if it killed her.

She forced herself to hold the pen

But grimaced in agony,

Each word felt as though

Written in her blood.

Each stroke seeped away

More of her life,

But she continued,

She knew she must

Must share her tale,

For a story left untold

Is a fate worse than death.