Ink

You’re still in my words, And at the tip of my pen

Flowing blue ink like

Streams of tears

For all the years

Of Crimson memories

And pitch black spells

Tainting the white of my pages

I gave you the pen

Said,”I’m an open book with blank pages.”

And you wrote a nightmare

Gut-wrenching, painful

More defeated than Shakespearean lovers

You sketched us with lines of sorrow and painted us with ashes

While I adorned you with laughter.

Pouring cold water on the fire in my eyes.

My laughter now hidden deep in the echoes of your darkened soul,

Flowing through your veins as an echo of your muted cries.
R. A. Douglas
April 4, 2016.

1 Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s