ink.






                                ink. flame stories
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fwinterroses
fwinterroses raging bisexual | ig: @fallingwinterrose
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
the introduction of each 'book' in the ink collection. that i'm writing. wheeeeeeee / trigger warning for implied rape, self harm, and a whole lot of other dark things.

ink.

my words were the imprints of ink on the pulp of trees.

my words were the imprints of ink on the pulp of trees. they spoke through their curling letters, their pure black colour.

/

you, you spoke your words of being alone

silent pleas, from five to twelve to sixteen you begged

silent pleas, from five to twelve to sixteen you begged for someone to help—

silent pleas, from five to twelve to sixteen you begged for someone to help— to notice—

nothing to accompany you but your pen and paper

nothing to accompany you but your pen and paper no one to notice the darkness encroaching,

nothing to accompany you but your pen and paper no one to notice the darkness encroaching, gathering on the edges of your mind

nothing to accompany you but your pen and paper no one to notice the darkness encroaching, gathering on the edges of your mind no one to see me drowning in the dark—

/

you, you spoke your words of dirty hands, dirty bodies,

the endless scrubbing of your skin, trying, begging,

the endless scrubbing of your skin, trying, begging, for it to be over.

the endless scrubbing of your skin, trying, begging, for it to be over. for you to be able to wash away the phantoms of your tormentor that still lingered and would till your dying days

you loved him—

you loved him— you didn’t even know him—

you loved him— you didn’t even know him— it was at five, twelve, eighteen, thirty.

you loved him— you didn’t even know him— it was at five, twelve, eighteen, thirty. not even knowing what was happening—

you loved him— you didn’t even know him— it was at five, twelve, eighteen, thirty. not even knowing what was happening— you were a boy and that didn’t matter at all—

it was your

it was your best friend’s brother, mommy’s boyfriend,

it was your best friend’s brother, mommy’s boyfriend, volleyball coach, grandfather

it was your best friend’s brother, mommy’s boyfriend, volleyball coach, grandfather my father

it was your best friend’s brother, mommy’s boyfriend, volleyball coach, grandfather my father my date

all the words blur together—

/

you, you spoke your words of wanting to help

days lamenting over the pain of friends

cutting to take away the pain

cutting

cutting burning

cutting burning pricking

scarring yourselves together

scarring yourselves together to take away the burning pain

scarring yourselves together to take away the burning pain to let it out

not knowing what the future would bring

unsure, immature. alone.

young, misunderstood—

young, misunderstood— parents didn’t understand—

young, misunderstood— parents didn’t understand— passed it off as a phase—

young, misunderstood— parents didn’t understand— passed it off as a phase— no one knew—

secrets held behind your eyes.

/

you, you spoke your words of being the outcast the not-quite-right member of the family

alone hated, abandoned, with sisters and brothers who weren’t really your own—

a father who drank who didn’t even know me—

of split parents fights that i couldn’t shut out that the walls would not muffle—

pleading cries of your mother at 2 am—

/

you, you spoke your words of being a silent girl

obedient, falling silent at the slightest look—

you were too scared too studious, too easily bent to their will

you were a branch made to be bent

you were a branch made to be bent a branch that was bent too far—

/

you, you wrote with black black ink

curling like the roots of trees

curling like the roots of trees arching like the gate of life—

you wrote your way out of darkness lifted up by ink and hands and hope.

/

you, you are changed

you, you are changed but not broken never broken—

you are covered in the black ink of your sorrow of your thoughts—

but you are under the sunlight

again.

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