Ink
Ink poetry stories
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wethedreamers
wethedreamersAnd we're a million miles away.
Autoplay OFF  •  a year ago
I wrote this a while ago for somebody who didn't deserve to be written about. I write in pencil now.

Ink

by wethedreamers

You are on my paper. You are on my skin.

You are every restless night from every dream that's ever been Disturbing me; reoccurring. In the dead of the night, you are what keeps me stirring.

Every word in every poem is utterly you.

Your voice is in every song I sing Your face is in every picture I ever once drew... Sketching hastily, just to get you right.

You are the fire I urgently set alight.

I watch the flames dance, an how I wish it were us: Dancing endlessly in eternal love Alive and pulsing, a piercing glow.

You are my full bodied glass of Bordeaux.

That I drink to forget you and what I down to feel used. You are the stain that it leaves, like a burgundy bruise. that pains and aches me with no alleviation.

You are the horrid thought that leaves me shaken.

You are on my paper, spilled out in cursive of ink. You are branded on my skin permanently...

...I think.

Because you never exit, regardless of how I claw.

In the access, you become my scar..

That I hide in shame, like the secret you are on my lips.

Threatening to leave my mouth with overeagerness.

I trace my fingers over the fragments of you.

Wishing, wanting, hoping for my wishful thoughts to come true. And you would appear in flesh as you do in thought daily.

How I loved you in the first place... I remember it vaguely

Only that you were ink on my paper And that you were ink on my skin.

Forever in my writings.

Forever in my sight.

And forever within.

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