I dip my quill into the ink
staining my heart in darkness
and seeping into my soul,
pooling in the emptiness.

I decipher the code my emotions leave behind,
cryptic language few can read,
the words forever etched in my mind,
carving out space for themselves.

I write around the spots,
the paper dampened by my tears,
tossing page after page
of misunderstood emotions and pestering fears.

Drowning in the overflowing ink.
Writing nonsense to catch one last breath.
Unable to breathe, I slowly sink,
resting at the bottom with all of my failures.

The light fades from view, swallowed by darkness.
I used to write by its flickering flame.
I end the poem, the last words of it done
and finish it off with my name.

It carries me to the surface of the waves
and soaks up all of the ink.
I continue writing.  A forgotten slave
in this never-ending cycle.

This
                is how I write.