I told myself I would write you out of me like ******* venom out of a vein-

With every letter upon the page it felt like I was pulling bits of you out of my bloodstream.

But then I wake up to streaked walls and I realized you're smeared everywhere-

You're a spilled ink bottle upon pages and pages of my life and you're bleeding into the rest of my book.

You're splattered across my walls and waking up to the stains within my room leaves me stained too-

I walk around seeing you in so much that I do.

My eyes are stained with the tint of your affection and I find it glimmering in every thing I see.

The splatters are still wet upon my walls, the ink hasn't dried upon my pages.

Everything I feel for you hasn't died yet.

How foolish was I to think that spilling my heart and ink about you would somehow get you to leave.

You're dripping from my eyes, from my pen and my veins.

I hoped this would get you out of me,

But every drip hits the ground and splatters out to the walls.

I haven't seen you in so long,

But I still see you stained upon my walls into what is a masterpiece of attempting to rid myself of you.

You're still in my ink, you're still in my veins.

You're now everywhere else too.

When can I escape you?