Ink

..And what if it catches up with me,
I will beg to it to leave me alone.
I really have nothing to give; not even the words.
I will ask it to just let me be. I will convince it that I can’t.
I can’t write it because I am too foolish.
Easily proven, isn’t it?

..And what if the story hits me,
Holds me by my neck, and says, “Write or else..”
“Damn you. Or else.. What?? I told you I can’t”
“Or else.. I’ll be untold.”

(and to that logic, I finally submit)

..And what if I can’t find ink then?
When the story has taken over me, what if I can’t find ink?
I will write it with my blood.

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