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
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.