I'm writing as fast as I can
but my pen can't keep up with my
feelings. As I struggle to write
myself, out of myself, by
letting the ink drip out onto the page,
the ink streams onto my skin.
What a flow to revel in.
I bathe in this black ink,
and it loves me, at least
that's what I think...
Why else would the ink stain
my skin? Out out **** spot. Nothing
doing said the ink. For I release your pain,
make your uttering plain
and your ranting sane.
I trace your letters with gold
I grace your quill with drips of wisdom
you have yet to unfold
Panting, I try to catch up to that
fleeting thought
There goes that rhyme scheme
I almost caught
I picked up the pace in this
"metaphorical" race for naught
For while running, I stumbled upon
quite an interesting find
Some feelings are best left flowing
within the confines of my mind...
but my pen can't keep up with my
feelings. As I struggle to write
myself, out of myself, by
letting the ink drip out onto the page,
the ink streams onto my skin.
What a flow to revel in.
I bathe in this black ink,
and it loves me, at least
that's what I think...
Why else would the ink stain
my skin? Out out **** spot. Nothing
doing said the ink. For I release your pain,
make your uttering plain
and your ranting sane.
I trace your letters with gold
I grace your quill with drips of wisdom
you have yet to unfold
Panting, I try to catch up to that
fleeting thought
There goes that rhyme scheme
I almost caught
I picked up the pace in this
"metaphorical" race for naught
For while running, I stumbled upon
quite an interesting find
Some feelings are best left flowing
within the confines of my mind...