my story
You say you can read me like a book But the once happy story Is distorted by thick black ink It doesn't read the same way anymore The more I read the thicker the ink gets It seeps into my fingertips and up my arms My Head gets so light it's in the clouds But the ink fills my mouth I'm drowning! The ink is flammable, It burns in my chest yet... Its colour becomes a comfort to me immersing myself in it brings no peace... It isolates me, makes me feel numb, alone, useless This feeling takes over Re-writing my story I can't stop it I can only slow it down There is no cause for this affect But I'm drowning At least it feels like I could be There is no way to describe it completely The ink is a mixture of negative thoughts feeling and doubts My past has been tainted with this ink My future will be written by it As it stands that story will be bleak