My ink. Me

The soul
Of my ink

Is you

Sometimes I feel like all of the ink in my hand has run out
I keep making the motions
But I don't feel the emotions
I keep drawing in the air
But I can no longer sense anything there.

it’s just how it was.
and so things ended up the way they did.
we were quite a pair;
what with my impulsiveness and your rationality.
as i took a step back, each time i recognized the danger in your eyes, flickers unleashed.
this rendezvous meant meeting somewhere a little nearer than halfway,
not without leaving a breadcrumb trail of weariness.

see, we didn’t get around to the part of burning bridges-yellow and orange and blue flames standing tall. neither did we try dousing ourselves in gasoline just so it could stay alive, sparks like flirtatious moths attune to life.

all that we’ve resorted to was crossing the bridge and rightly so. for all we ever wanted was to learn the language the city lights spoke upon the ripples delving into atlantis’ reach. there wasn’t a need to get past the platform, plainly standing there already felt right.

this is what those weeks were all for. open-door kisses and treacherous things in the dark.
the laughing fits and slow dancing in your balcony at 2am, acoustics faint on your speakers were just ways we came up with in order to **** time.

things ended up the way they did.
your messages left unopened, my secrets i’ve bared onto your lips and your tongue was the ink you’ve etched yours with on my skin. for a while it meant more than that, we meant more than just a jet’s smoke trail of fleeting stars crash landing upon reality. we could only get to pretend for so long that the crash wouldn’t occur even as we’ve made an agreement that we’d still be alright and remain with an exchange of warm smiles and inviting eyes like the first encounter. but pretending could only sit so well in my chest but it can’t quite counteract this particular feeling rushing with intensity, an outrage that’s only worsened as those exchanges are kept.

so forgive me if i couldn’t keep contact, if all your calls go to voicemail-and i try not to listen to them but ultimately fail. the only compromise i aid to is to not reply.

that’s just how it was.
things ended up the way they did.
the passionate flames surrounded us keeping a close watch so they wouldn't engulf us
we were just bridge watchers content on not going beyond nor under


-“bridge watchers.”

She no longer personified the young flower bud,
that she happened upon last summer,
sweet and delicate, swaying carefree in a field of wildflowers.

No-
after all, she had endured heavy rain,
fierce storms, and unrelenting winds from the West.

She was bold in her quest for sunlight,
and had learnt to stand, unbending,
resistant, in the face of adversity;

No-one was more deserving of the petals
that blossomed for all to see.

ink melts through paper
during heat, cold, rain, and snow
to mark every heart.