Skip to main content

The Ink Remains



I write with pen,
because I’m afraid
to erase the proof of us
from this planet
for good.

I want to be
your summer storm
and your winter sun.

I want to consume you
until all we have left
is this paper and ink
to prove our being,
until all we have left
is this poem.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Grey

Why must people always have to be either good or bad? What if I was a good girl with bad tendencies or a bad girl who did good things? Must things always be placed in little boxes? What about those who do not fit into any box? What happens to them?
Post a Comment
Read more

Turmoil of Lack of You

Do you remember that day the sun didn't shine, the birds didn't sing, And poison rained  from the sky? That was the day  you wouldn't talk to me. 
1 comment
Read more

Surviving Without You

I'll sob and cry my heart out, drowning my sorrows in a gallon of ice-cream. But then I'll stand back up, wipe the tears from my face, put a bandaid over my heart, and move on with my life. You won't be the death of me, because you're not that special. I'll be okay without you.
Post a Comment
Read more