Not enough ink
In my pen
To express myself
With an enticing
poetic brilliance
But more than enough ink
In the same pen
To write my thoughts
with unadorned words
And conventional phrases
Often adding
a rhyme or two
To impart
A reading experience
Which I hope
Is at an arm's length
From being dull
and monotonous
Just a thought
i hope no one can see the taste of your tongue on my lips
drenched in my skin
admitting where i've been
i hope no one notices your perfume that i wave like a white flag
"its complicated," i tell them
because i cannot fall for you again.
but i want to,
god i want to,
i want to showcase each tattoo you've left on my heart
no matter how big
no matter how small
but your galaxies are not mine to get lost in
your promises not mine to believe in
your words not mine to soak in
but i want them to be.
i hope no one can smell the ink that coats my body after spending short moments in alleys
doing things that lovers are supposed to do
even though i am not the arms you're falling asleep to
i hope no one can hear my heart race as i realize
this is not your first time breaking me this way
nor your last
and i know i should pull away
and i know i shouldn't melt this way
and i know that before falling for you, there's probably things i should do
to prevent the outcome, you know
but i don't
i dig my hands into your hair
into your skin
my lips into your lips
and i die and cry and die
i know this is suicide
so what's my master plan?
hoping no one can sense me falling for you again.
you  never realize how much you love someone until you watch them love someone else.
Maybe I'm shooting in the dark.
Maybe I'm shooting at something that's not really there.
It doesn't feel fair
that I have to be
such a lousy shot.

I'm not a robot.
I'm not calculating.
I'm not cold and defining.

I might be running through rivers of black ink.
I might be breathing in the noise.
I might be doing anything at all, but I don't think
I could fail to notice.

I'm not just ignorant,
I know what's happening,
but I can't admit anything at all.
I'd rather fall

into the staining, screaming streams
that claw at my callused feet.
I'm running
with no street
to follow.

The shining ink's close
to me, but it's not
how I want to go.

I really am flailing at nothing,
but I realize
I was never breathing words,
I was breathing in these thick and heavy woods.

I can't keep running.
I've destroyed that part of myself.
I keep the perfect things on a shelf
where I can't reach them.

Please, tell me again
how I am not breathing in
your words like oxegyn.

My lifeline, my lifeline.
I can't find it.
I'm drowning, I'm drowning.

Pulling muscle and
refusing to keep it down
preparing to drown.
That moment when the only thing you'll put near your mouth is ink.

August 11th, 2018.
Özcan Sh Aug 5
I was injured
I hear something is dripping
My shirt was still white
But the black knight
Begins to fight
On the white battlefield.
Liyah Bella Jul 29
i fell in love at the age of 14
we kissed and didn't stop until i was 17
he was the first boy to buy me roses
the first boy who taught me love
real love
now things are strange
we both have changed and grown
he sits in jail with a rose tattoo on his neck
the neck i used to kiss
now it's forever stained with ink
i sit in my home high and depressed
laying in the bed we used to make love in
life isn't the same after many heart breaks
we have both gone through changes
Larri Jul 28
I'm drowning
In ink.
You are drowning
in a bathtub.
You are suffocating
In suds.
I am breathing,
In love.

I let you go.
The lightning struck.
Igniting the lamp I use to see by night.
So that I may waste exhaustion to write.
I used the lightning
Fueled by the toaster
You decided
Was more electrifying
Than my

Only through determination
And nourishment of the mind,
Can a flickering spark
Become a flame that burns
Into a roaring fire
With embers that soar...
Create and burn bright! The world is a much better place with inquisitive minds in it!
Your heart is not a bureaucrat,
waiting on tax returns.

Nothing is in writing,
nor verbal contract.
The only inking is flushed skin upon contact.

It is implied.
It's the high road.
It's when the bed shakes during a storm;
It's when the grass grows again in the morning.
Maida Rasool Jul 21
cut me open
and let all the
ink run
from these veins,
until my words
bleed dry,
and only
blank pages remain.
Özcan Sh Jul 18
My heart
It’s empty
like a blank sheet of paper
She reached her pen
And started to write

She wants me to live on
She wants me to feel emotions again
She wants me to smile again
She wants me to be happy

I look at her
Her eyes filled with tears of ink
I take her my arms
Whisper in her ear
And said

“You are the words on my paper”

I let her fill my empty paper
Her gentle warm love
Saved my heart.
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