"Taste of Ink"

I have found that an empty soul can shine

In this dark and gritty world,

But the inspirations it radiates on hold no light.



Sharp corners and jagged edges.

Erratic placements of doubt block clarity,

Permitting the imps of love to lurk in the shadows.

Quill claws clinging to parchment,

Allowing only the IDEA of love to drip from their fingertips.



My fingertips.



Eternally I fight these creatures on papyrus battlegrounds,

Keeping them at bay with pigmented swordplay,

Swift strokes with the tip of my weapon,

Every movement an attempt to vanquish my demons.



Each title a name with a face,

Each face an inspiration,

Each inspiration a burden of truth,

To be digested and let out in the form of words.

Each word a battle scar,

Leaking ink from the seams stitched by acceptance,

Slowly covering pages of my life.

I smear it but to no avail

The sentences still appear,

Like faces from the shadows.

I must stare into their eyes,

Knowing all too well the pain they hide.



The sentences meld into stanzas,

Stanzas into hands,

The same hands which slowly wring out my heart,

Drowning my soul in the liquor of what was,

No choice but to drink to the occasion.



Desensitizing my feeling of love,

Blinding my eyes so I don't see beauty,

Numbing my hands as to no longer feel the warmth of skin.

Lips linger drunkenly as nothing but the breeze brushes them,

Lacing them with a hint of ink,

So bittersweet,

The taste of Honesty.