I am covered in sticky black ink
in nightfall that traces the exact shape of my body
the world is dark with my eyes closed or open
i try to scrape it off and create poetry but i can no longer
it is a part of me
it is a bruise that blooms like sunset over my skin
with crushed stars lingering in my hair
and for years i craved you and cried
i thought you were concentrated hope
beautiful and just out of reach
i can flick the lights on
and see you as you are now
there is a fine line between hope and dread