Ink

Ink

The ink

Patterns over the

White

It spreads and

Smudges at the

Corners of

The oddly-

Shaped words and

Overflows.

The pen gently

Stabs and

Moves to form

The lines

Which make

The mess of

Verbs.

Sentences that

Don't make sense.

The hand

Trembles

Uncontrolled,

Uncontrollably.

It wipes the ink

And is stained

A dark blue,

A dark hue,

Like pain.

The eyes

Squint shut

And the tears

Fall like

Rain. It is

Absorbed.

It washes over

And bleeds

The ink.

You read it and

Scoffed. But you

Don't realize that

Every word drained

A drop of

Blood from my

Heart, till none was left.

The very words

I didn't think I could

ever

Bear to write,

I had writ:

I love you

But we

Can never

Be.

More angsty not-amazing poetry D:

This had been sitting in my documents for a while so I just decided to publish it shrugs

Well, I'm supposed to be busy with school right now, but no harm posting something.