A writer who picks up a pen filled with opportunity
is taken over by the ink .
Lines that trickle across blank paper cry for your strokes
but the meaning behind the nouns change with each blink .
The words no longer speak . No longer tickle you to remember her laugh.
Just. Blank. Paper.
Waiting for you to grasp each metaphor in file,
each simile that breaks down every part of you thats in her
to in turn receive her smile .
Careful with your word choice
because tomorrow she might disappear,
so you say things to push aside the fear
you’ve always carried.
Trusting her to hide the ghosts that linger as you think,
But she’s too greedy to only have you.
See, she wants all of they’re attention
but he who writes still holds the pen
to change all his offenses.