It splatters the paper with colors of sadness, blacks and blues they fill my madness. Drying on the paper, the ink I spilled. Thinking thoughts and dreaming still.
Ink that is left, leaves me empty, spilled on the page living plenty. Heart starts to race as you flip a page. The ink has been spilled, and I cannot see.
The clouds fog around me, tightening grips. The ink that I see, I just took one sip. In my blood and in my veins, thinking of living another day. I try to look away but it draws me in.
The blood on the pen, has me thinking. I want to write about all my pain, it comes back everyday. I want to hide away, this world is scary. Using my blood as ink, hoping someone will find me.
(Made this for the daily prompt Ink like awhile ago and didn't even post it ;-;) ~Rowan