The blood that runs through my veins,
comes from a family that was insane,
a genetic curse, some families bare,
some bloodlines many people share,
as one steps to take a look,
opening a life up like a book,
knowing, I am me, because you were you,
no way around what people say being true,
The blood in me was in you to,
I see you in me, In some things I do.
Should I see this as a gift?
Or, Are some left with a curse to lift?
A choice, to me, is what life is about,
but the blood that is in me causes doubt,
feeling them inside me screaming out,
deep in my bones is a constant shout,
the blood that runs through my veins,
Comes from a curse that has blotted many stains,
blotted and covered with pain that remains,
as long as their blood runs through my veins.