It was the vessel  of thought it bled
Like wine from my fingertips,  scratching
Upon ****** white it did bleed.

It was consummated never to be as
It was before deflowered from white
To shades of thought.

It penetrated deep and pain was spelled out.  
It felt ***** used as it was like others just pushed
To the side scrunched up like yesterdays news
Paper then thrown away.

Thoughts not worthy, just lying naked in the
Bin for all to see. just laying there still, *****
Like tears of ink had spilled over the page.