Discoloured lines,
               eligible echoes
of my needing to explain...

Unrecognizable syllables of
                       understanding
That I read upon everyday.

Ink so fresh when spelt out,
                   filtering my emotions.
Dripping down this slightly torn page.

Will I ever just put a line down this
                   repetition of unspoken
words wishing to bleed silently out.

If I write that last lyric, it will sing
                 wet upon this page.
Of sorrows voice, silently spoken, now vacant.