Ink stains on paper.
Drowning myself in its substance.
Remaining till its time has come.
Decayed and turned to dust.
A life on lines,
Of white bordered blue.
Each sheet a new start.
Each stroke of ink,
A cacophony of varying stages of a life;
Ruled by emotion.
Each blank page a new beginning.
The start of pain untold,
Which ebbs away and flows from my being.
As ink stains on paper.
Old, New and undiscovered.
The inner workings of a broken being.