Poem -
This Ink
Truth in chaos,
metaphorical hate.
Got nowhere to be,
but I'm always fucking late.
Burning white in the pitch black,
This ink is running out.
Versatile; it's the fear I lack,
While I'm filling these thoughts with doubt.
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Comments
I am so sorry I missed this up until now. This is a fabulous poem. I can sooooo relate x
Awe thanks :)
What an amazing pen. No doubt, I`m really glad I went rummaging through your work. Just perfect and not overly complex... something I always struggle with...
Thanks so much :)