Diary

I'm a cynic, cloaked in pink
A romantic, disguised by the dark
A poet, of angst-filled passion
Bobbing my head to the stereo
Booming, as I write
Silent emotion flowing from my pen
The stick of destined ink
Resting between my guiding fingers
Latent black blood, until
It hits the paper
Turning to words of fire
The pen- my confidante, my weapon
The itch beneath my surface
Potential, it calls
The cause of my insomnia
So I give in
Turning murky, liquid emotion
Into tangible stanzas
Endless lines and curves flow
A language of sin and smiles
Sung quietly, in the middle of the night
To the chords of a guitar
Extensions of my heart, scribbled,
Inscribed, faded ink on my skin
Drafts and drafts of
Discarded emotions tossed to the side
Until one is finally right
Crooned to the rhythm of my heartbeat
This cynical
Poetry