That red ink
That scathe our papers
With apathetic marks of incorrection
Or brings out the tone
Merely if you had not
Bought me that pen
I wouldn't be stabbing myself
Over and over until I leak
While the blood it rushes
And the ink; it flows
Into each other
And spills onto my paper
While ideas form and shape
That's how you make red ink.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC
That red ink
That scathe our papers
With apathetic marks of incorrection
Or brings out the tone
Merely if you had not
Bought me that pen
I wouldn't be stabbing myself
Over and over until I leak
While the blood it rushes
And the ink; it flows
Into each other
And spills onto my paper
While ideas form and shape
That's how you make red ink.
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