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Submitted on
October 20, 2004
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words flowing from fingertips
so sharp they bleed
they bleed on me, over me
stinging beads of scarlet
staining porcelain skin
staining me the same
color as the sky
i am more grey than black
i am more black than blue
i am more blank than anything
i am less than i used to be
you are the beautiful disaster
unraveling me at my seams
Um...yeah. Wrote this earlier today. Penance for missing my YouthSpeaks workshop or something.

Edit: Ignore the preview image, the poem was renamed Ink as it was considered more appropriate.
:icontrivialsublime:
trivialsublime Featured By Owner Oct 24, 2004
wow, I like that. :)
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