Of pen and paper

Posted: May 16, 2013 in communication, complexity, Emotions, Love, Memories, Randoms, Weirdness, words, writing
Tags: , , ,

In Appreciation, I write, not in remorse.

To and for a time so timeless,

Sentences, scattered in structure, disrupted in its sense of sense, yet humbled by the feeling that triggered the urge to write in the first place.

I write,

Till I’m drained empty.

Till the words squeeze into sour juices of meanings.

I write and write,

Till the heaviness is gone, shedding layers of me within layers of paper, squirting blue ink of my royal blood from a loaded pen… That still drips

And I still write,

Dispersed letters, grouped only to be distorted upon a thought, that reforms then dissolves…

Into canals of clogged memory lanes, superimposing timelines from different times.

And the pen still drips,

What lips failed to speak, of the relics a crippled heart keeps…

Onto papers,

That never really existed.

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Comments
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