These words that I write.
And the pain that I feel.
Remain stained upon this page.
But just as this page will deteriorate.
In time.
So will this anguish.
There may be times.
When the ink in the pen is not enough.
We must demonstrate our anger and hate upon the world.
But we realize.
That our actions scream louder than lungs capacity.
And even our bodies cannot hold the strain and punishment that we put it through.
So now we come back to the white paper.
And the ink in the pen.
To blacken our thoughts over again.