See the words fall onto the page, see them collect the magic.
There is a place that only the ink weaver goes,
This is a place that can keep the nightmares at bay.
Thrown into a world of utter confusion,
From the pain and sorrow there is no seclusion.
Off balance living on the razors edge, I'm walking on the tight wire.
The unending desire to put pen to page, the tumble of thoughts twisting and turning.
Feeling the desire of unspoken words it's inkhearts world.
Inkheart the magical poet, unforgettable, devourer of paper,
Scarred and adorned by humanity and reality.

Written by Kelly O'Hara 28th May 2014.

Shackled hands and bowed heads,
Screams of those who slowly bled.
In the middle, laughing in cold demise,
Fuelled by all those howling cries,
Stood a man with heart black as ink,
Pain and sorrow made his rink.

A little girl, with a golden smile.  
Her father was her eternal mile.
Love of a mother, stolen by ink,
Tears flew from every blink.
Stolen away was her father too,
Truly hidden in the blue.
An oath of revenge, sliced the night.
In search of ink went, her eyes bright.

The pen of life replaced by a sword,
In front the inkheart known to hoard.
Slice, the sword cut through his heart,
And charred black ink stained the dart.

No one with an ink black soul,
Can live for long in galore.
Slowly Karma takes its place,
And no human can create a brace.

Wrighting for me has become frightening...
Like the Inkheart of silver tounges
I'm longing ...
I'm longing..
for the big moment taking the normal one step forward and two steps back..

Is backwards the way I choose to go ?

Where am I now ?
if not me am I too supposed to be younger ?

Am I growing old because I've yet to reach my destination?

Is time itself a made up reality?
If told that you couldn't fly why does a child draw a angel with feathers?
You see i Gather the contrast, theme and descriptive metaphor while constructively criticizing every detail I can until it's my own fault I live of such loneliness...

I can describe repeated blows threw the skulls skill to protect with waves unrecognizable as threats to the brain.
my acts of judgements that flood over my personal thoughts that which have beauty and meanings full of joyful suspense and conception of colors having *** without lust in it's detail the formulas combination of touch explodes like a theory on life.


It rains ideas like opening statements and hightens Senses with sent messages past smells of wet ground and rain while sounds of other memories play violin's like crickets drum,  
The man whistles like birds chirping, or grass whispering
Wildly to the feilds in waving motion of fans at a football stadium burning with passion for the next big play
With faces painted like warriors protecting there village until the final sound of thought can exit my mind and I can watch as words and arranged letters pair in a paragraph parading like a Paradise in a party I've partaked in only to say...
I'll never forget how to write or what my goals in life are there's just always to much to do.. and to much to say.
Maybe not enough time my enourmous instant seconds..
Thoughts of a whole story in moments I think gone as fast as a flash , or a car going buy hearing it's music for a split second and connection to how many in the car what color clothes they wear and how fast they're going,
Leaving my body actively still sitting reading what I've wrote the split second it's written amazed by myself and it's instant gratification holding on to life as if it's the most important thing ..
Forgetting what it was that made me what I am today because of all of the strength to never give up what I lost to learn love and miss hate like being taught what was at stake when only examples of Martyrs are whats left to bring back to date.

Her breath tranquilised my soul.
This glutton glass is filled.
Her smile is all over.
Half consumed by need.
Half filled with wine and love.
Blood rising to the lips.
Flooding my head with her thoughts.
She can never read.  . .
she is filled with love tears.

I think of the moments we gently stole.
From a curious eyes of crying soul.
Fiding the universe in our palms and we stare it unfold.
Driving the distance to escape our own.

Her thoughts and i,
Waiting for someone.
We stay awakened.
Hoping for something to numb the heart in sorrow.
Needed to tending.
With a pinch of divine and that platinum lining.

Seeing the empty seats in a car.
Is taken by her absence .
Her memories warm the gear shaft.
Without our fingers twined .
Is bare striped of our nakedness thoughts.

When rain comes to me.
It floods my inkheart.
For a drizzle noon.
It is parked within .
Behind a sheet of rain and ink pouring out.
Our tongues were mating.
Like lost out love puppies.
We could shed love tears. 🔥🌹🌹🌺