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Patricio Salazar Mar 2011
Hey you there.
Hey you all there, but for right now
Hey you there.

I have so much to say, but the
Time & Ink are not on my side.
I Love You ! I Love You ! And what happened made me feel like crap.
I hated it.
But i Loved it, & now i always will.
I have so much to say but the Time & Ink aren't on my side.
I have the words to Explore, Shine upon, and Discover for an infinite length of time - But time has some evil in it.
I have the Time to write, Express and tell an amount of words so infinite - But it turns out Ink has some evil in it.
Oh how im stuck.
Im completely left alone in the unknown.
Im shocked.
You were the best, but now you're just your best.
Oh how much i miss you, but i think i miss the Heart-Break more.
I have so much Love to give, so update yourselves.
It's New News, and New Olds.
Im not the same old, same old - Im Differently New, Differently New.
My clocks big and little sticks go Time-Ink ! Time-Ink ! The scribbles of my pen go Time-Ink ! Time-Ink ! And i feel it so much the beat of my Heart goes Time-Ink ! Time-Ink !
I have something to say; But im gonna keep it to myself.
If your mind understood .. I'd **** you.
My soul is so sharp, and my words so precise - I'm glad you're a ****** !
Im glad people know their "own best".
Im just sorry peoples "own best" don't know their own best.
Time-Ink .. Time-Ink ..

Let me say this how my Time-Ink circumstance allows me to.
I don't want to make you jealous -
And i don't want to hurt your feelings.
I only want to hurt your thoughts.
Let me stab & tear stab & tear your thoughts with Time & Ink Time & Ink until you're confused.
Until you don't know if you know or do not know what you're doing.
Until you don't know if you're Free or if you're *******.
Help, Im Alive - My Heart Keeps Beating Like A Hammer.

Time & Ink, Time & Ink.
I have a few minutes and few scribbles left to say what i want to say.
Death will happen.
That's the ugliness of Time & Ink.
Is it worth expressing myself with this evil ?
Oh well im doing it anyways.
I swear i will break this pen !
And **** all time !
And disappoint their assumed knowledge of an expected time and amount with Death to their lives.
I love everything about you.
Even after all the Time & Ink ..
I have come to notice that i Hate only how you are society, and a product of society so typically biased..

But only because i know what you will do.

So To You There, Time & Ink.
To You All There, Time & Ink.
To Us .. "Time & Ink" And Love.
Queen-Midas  Nov 2016
Ink
Queen-Midas Nov 2016
Ink
Ink, ink, ink,
It was the same ink which wrote those notes, we passed in class,
I’d read them, my hair a curtain round my face,
Hiding the feelings my face would betray.
Ink, ink, ink,
It was the same ink which wrote those love letters stashed carefully under a comer  of my bed.
You’d read them, a light smile playing on your lips, in your eyes I’d see my words and
I’d fall in love with you all over again.
Ink, ink, ink,
It was the same ink that wrote those poems in my notebook,
The ones you’d pretend you couldn’t see.
I’d read them again and again,
And each time I’d find a sadder meaning behind each line.
And you have to believe me I’d never do all of this just for attention.
Ink, ink, ink,
It was the same ink that wrote those dreadful, melancholy lines you’d hear people talking about in the hallways.
I’d sit in a corner of the washroom sobbing till I couldn’t breathe,
Then wash my face, erasing all the evidence off my face that my eyes couldn’t hide.
They’d look at me and ignore my pain, cuz u know people they’d rather believe the lies than hear the truth.
Ink, ink, ink,
And finally it was the same ink that wrote that suicide note I kept on the rack. I read it one last time before finally walking away, slipping and drowning into the water.
But this time I didn’t try to fight back.
**I SANK, I SURRENDERED, I SLEPT.
up to six poems a day.
Andre Baez  Jul 2013
Ink Blood
Andre Baez Jul 2013
Ink in the bowl goes on to skin
Culture from Africa to Americas Indians
Ink that is absorbed into the mind
Held in place forever in time

Ink that controls the blood in veins
Moving through the pulses and chains
Not strong enough to hold the soul
Ink that lives infinite in the world

Smooth grooves in nights and bars
Jazzy blues, singing croons through guitar
Villages and huts where elders bang drums
Leaders dance songs for rain and sun

Music through words transferred through ink
Thoughts held in mind brought into links
That form into the soul of the world
Blood that stains as ink swirls

Tantrums and storms that guide the spirit
A spirit so combative you can't come near it
It won't come if you hear it or read it
Learn to live the life, words true when you feel it

Artist from autism, loose thoughts bridge cataclysms
No cure for the self, wealth grows, pace kept slow
Races to save victims and glorify human conditions
Giving thoughts and heart to help, it is felt, is it felt?

Writing soul, from heaven to hell
Spiritual fire, culture is furthered
For my blood flows parallel to ink
Ink that flows and grows from me

Me goes to you, then travels beyond
We show growth, all faces of God
One voice seeks to speak
Through songs, poetry, love in the ink

****** lovely ink
Muddy purity links
The ink the ink
The ink the ink .
Melody Oct 2011
I sit and I scribble,

With black ink pens,

Black ink pens and scribbles,

I scribble and I ribble my single given life away.

And when I shower,

I wash the ink off my hands,

and clean the deepest paper cuts down to the ends.

It stings and it rings,

But so do my pulsing fingers

And beating heart.


She sits at a desk

with black ink pens and scribbles.

Black ink pens and scribbles.

She scribbles and ribbles her single given life away.

And when she showers,

She washes the ink off her hands,

And cleans the deepest paper cuts down to the ends.

She stings and she rings,

But so do my pulsing fingers


And beating heart.


I sit and I scribble,

With black ink pens,

Black ink pens and scribbles,

I scribble and I ribble my single given life away.

And when I shower,

I was the ink off my hands,

And clean the deepest paper cuts down to the ends.

It stings and it rings,

But so do my pulsing fingers

And beating heart.


I die with this pen in my hand,

And my book of scribbles below my head.

She dies with her pen in her hand,

And her book of scribbles below her head.


I die with this pen in my hand,

And my book of scribbles below my head.
Ann M Johnson  Nov 2017
INK Well
Ann M Johnson Nov 2017
There are times when words seem to flow effortlessly unto paper.
At other times it seems to be quite a struggle. The ink runs low or is in short supply.
My quill seems ill, or worn and damaged.
  The ink on the quill threatens to dry up altogether, then a simple truth occurs to me.
  I need to renew and replenish and restore my quill by taking a dip in the ink well.
  I need the ink well to fully function. I was running dry trying too ******* my own.
  My quill takes a dip in the ink well .May creativity flow from the ink well and fill the quill up to the appropriate capacity.
If an extra drop of ink should occur it should be available to share with another quill in need of refreshment.
If you find a friend who is need of encouragement don’t let their ink dry up.
Instead help them take a dip in the ink well. Where together inspiring words can have an endless supply.
noir  Jan 2019
ink
noir Jan 2019
ink
I feel like Ink

Ink soothes

Ink feels

Ink flows

Ink loves

I’m not ink

I’m so terribly far from being Ink

Are you Ink

Or are you just an actor

Either way

You’re beautiful

Enjoy your Ink’d days

.

<insert static text>
ok this is about ink. whether you believe me or not.
My ink bleeds when I give words to your silence.
My ink bleeds when I complement your presence.
My ink bleeds when I'm depressed by your absence.
Your eyes hold mysteries that I would love to untangle.
Happiness fills up the space inside your heart.
Until it finds a way to crawl out.
And beautifully express itself as a paragon of art.
It's amazing how these simple words mean so much.
Eyes close then lips gently touch.
I have no need for poetry when I have your touch.
Your love shows me how simply beautiful you are within.
I'm captivated by you - your lips, voice, smile and grin.
And ever since I met you.
I define beauty by only you.
In the rain of your presence my words form a rainbow.
My heartbeat has been replaced with the sound of your name.
Your love dissipated my pain.
Happily looking forward to the memories I am yet to gain.
I'm left paralysed by your voice.
Still amazed by your poise.
I found my true happiness in your eyes.
I hope you won't mind if I stare.
I hope all the beautiful words you yearn to hear.
All make their way to your ear.
My ink bleeds when I'm depressed by your absence.
My ink bleeds when I complement your presence.
My ink bleeds when I give words to your silence.
My ink bleeds when my heart experiences an emotional violence.
My ink bleeds.
Yawns sleepy looks around interesting eyes blinks a few seconds falls out of bed hitting the floor walks out of room touches walls in the darkness seeing shadows dancing along.

The walls and faded lights they change a deeper abyssal black falls into the dusty cold floor creating a shadow of form of myself middle was a soul so scared so sad walks closer to the shadow touches the heart the rest of shadow form goes into the layers of the heart covered.

In black ink holding the black ink heart walks to a table and lays the ink heart on the table pressing ******* on the ink heart more black ink comes out of the heart covering my fingers in shock sensing the sadness within pulsing ink vessel's.

As dark blue mist crackling around my burned  body falls on the ground the ink heart falls. On the ground beating fast the ink heart starts forming a new body deep inside inner souls pass the scar's on the walls of the ink heart finding a girl covered in ink blacken crown on top her head.

My dark red flowing ghost like self  turns  and floating near  her  very closer to her and picks her up hugs her tightly kiss's her black ashes lips softly.

My soul self inside her body the ink shadow begin to glow bright scarlet red she smiles and jumping for joy singing wintering songs.
Meg  Nov 2015
open
Meg Nov 2015
An open mind-
An open mind is
        An open door
        An open window
        An open book-
        An open book
                Full of blank pages
                        Nameless
                        Wo­rdless
                        Silent
                Paper before the ink-
                        Ink
                                ­My tears are droplets
                                of ink that I cry into
                                poetry
                     ­   Ink
                                My blood is droplets
                                of ink that I bleed
                                into poetry
                        Ink
                              ­  My sweat is droplets
                                of ink that I work
                                into poetry
                       Ink
                                Tears, blood, sweat
                                Salty
                     ­           Like the sea
                       Ink
                               A bottle of
                                       Stories unwritten
                                       Words unsaid
                                       Promises broken
                       Ink
                               Emotions that I bottle
                               up and reveal only in
                               my writing
                               Things that could've
                               been and almost were
                               if not for
An open mind
Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.

Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes.

Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,
They all sat laughing in the little red wagon
At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.

Belinda giggled till she shook the house,
And Blink said Week! , which is giggling for a mouse,
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,
And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.

Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,
His beard was black, one leg was wood;
It was clear that the pirate meant no good.

Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help!
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,
And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.

But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.

The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,
He fired two bullets but they didn't hit,
And Custard gobbled him, every bit.

Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,
No one mourned for his pirate victim
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate
Around the dragon that ate the pyrate.

But presently up spoke little dog Mustard,
I'd been twice as brave if I hadn't been flustered.
And up spoke Ink and up spoke Blink,
We'd have been three times as brave, we think,
And Custard said, I quite agree
That everybody is braver than me.

Belinda still lives in her little white house,
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,
And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.
Prince of humorous verse Ogden Nash
Alexis J Meighan Sep 2014
Its just ink.

Though I lay it down
They say I lay it down
From the depth of my inner
To the facade of my smile
Matters not if in the end its just ink

From the thick of its grip
No gripe that it fits
Its said I laid it down
God knows I ache from its motion
But crushed I am that in the end its just ink

I think of all the glamour
Inhale every scent she wears
Tear apart my heart to get the darkest crimson
Mix it in the well, they say I's lays it down
Brand it in my skin. But to her its just ink

Its a link, a moment of some progress
The greatest of our progress.
She said I laid it down, but we both shared the  crown
And though just a granule on the shore
An annual creed of "Adore", not sure
Why its just ink

We watched the moon sink behind violent waters
Every night from the window, broken clouds soar with loud hues of pink and purple
Not every moment is a high hurdle to scale, its why the pen sets sail,ill will, I lay that down
Good moments are grand ones, so why those ascribed only known as just ink?

Just think.
A past where ballads were written on the battle fields
Pledge our allegiance now to a flag that waved under duress
Love stands grander a chance by that test
A scream is like cannons while a tear is like bullets
Hit the page and leave holes. I bared arms now I lay them down. These wounds no longer just ink.

-Xin-
When was the last time you opened your mailbox, looked on the sink, opened your bag, checked your pocket and found this weird thing? Like some sort of envelope with paper inside, and inside the paper was a message hand written with pen paper or crayon **** even a quill of sorts dipped in a staining source to produce a hand written letter addressed to you? Save the trees yes but also save the art of records and formal acknowledgment. Come on people grab your pens and lay it down

— The End —