This ink, black ink,

     Pours from inside, covers a page,

Never satisfied,

     Continually spilling, too much to say,

Endless possibility,

     This viscous liquid provides,

Alternative routes to bleed my roots,

    The power to do with words,

Incite fright, manipulate hate,

    Elevate those or annihilate,

Ever weaving, ever-snaking words and verbs,

     To create from nothing anything I wish,

Ideas, Emotions, Inspirational delight,

      This angry outlet often a friend,

My pen says more than I ever could,

     Overcome with emotion it slops black on white,

Until I’m flowing with ink more fond than my blood,

     This highway displays written integrity,

Hundreds of pages filled with obscurity,

     Is it crazy, is it me,

Incoherence or setting me free,

      I’ve taken my stand so read at your discretion,

I hope some of these can teach you a lesson.



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