Affection for you I can't undo,
Adhered to you like a tattoo.
I'm a substitute, I know.
Hard for me to let-go.
Painful to dry the ink you dipped into.

Fingertips frozen,
Arms up my sleeve.
But I have to write this idea down.
My hands are already filled with ink.
Everything has to be gold these days.
Golden chain, Golden eyes, Golden soul, Golden ring.
Still want to be the one to speak her name as mine though.
It's cold outside,
But I'm colder.
You poor thing.

you had arms
covered in them
it was artwork of the things
who made up
who you had been
and who you are presently
you gave me my first cigarette
and you also saved my life
your mother still asks about me
and I will always wonder
my place in your life

You have
an ocean
   in your inkwell,
      and who knows
         what new discoveries
  will flow
      from
         your pen

Nothing dries faster,
then black ink filled
with regretful words

If you're looking for a reason not to **** yourself tonight, this can be it.

Sometimes, we feel as if nothing matters.
We all do.
So i made a list of a few of my own reasons,
13 Reasons Why
I'm still alive.
And hopefully you'll change your mind.
Those moments you feel happy, and nothing but lucky.
And you wish nothing will ever change.
I will try my best.

Reason 1, poetry
Poetry. Pieces of someone's soul. That feeling  When you love a poem, any. When you realise it's worth it and when your head is full of poetry. When You can look at anything and feel happy, like a true poet. When you look at the ink on your fingers and wish you had forever to write poetry and read it just because you can. Live.

With my words I weave a scene,
A flawless world that seems pristine.
Verdant trees and babbling brooks,
Lands from ancient story books.
It is in these worlds that I long to be,
Basking in blissful serenity.
Walls of paper blockade my way,
The ink-stained partitions seem to stay.
I wield my pen, my trusty blade,
As I carve a legacy page by page.
These places that I often scribe,
Evade me quite; I cannot lie.
Yet perhaps for a moment I may just pretend,
And weave my scenes until the end.