Black pen

A black pen runs smoothly over my paper, 

I am writing down my fears and 

I am writing to forget. 

Darker as it dries, 

I watch it like paint on the walls, 

Hoping that people see I am busy and not approach.

I am cold, and as shivers go on marathons down my spine 

I am reckless, writing against stares and hungry looks that hit my sides like arrows. 

No I'm not okay. 

My black pen twists and flows, 

Waking up to wake me up, 

I am asleep on the inside. 

I wish I had enough white out to white out my existence, 

My mistakes. 

His voice was as smooth as a black pen  gliding, 

And I miss it writing all over my bones

And in the caves on my veins, 

I don't have white out. 

I down some window cleaner, trying to clear out his black pen hieroglyphics that have 

Made their home in my blood since 

July.