"The pen is mightier than the sword," or so it has been said,

With a blade so sharp as to rend the stoniest souls apart.

A beautiful weapon and a cruel mistress, harming even as it heals.

But, oh, the ink-stains on my fragile paper heart!

 

With this empty space in my breast, like a swirling vortex,

And this cloudiness in the head that is thought so smart.

The pen a scalpel, the paper a surrogate corazon.

But, oh, the ink-stains on my fragile paper heart!

 

The pen slices through soft flesh and brittle bone, cutting to the core,

And not blood but ink flows out; bottled up thoughts and feelings depart.

The paper is sucked into the dastardly vortex and disappears without a trace.

But, oh, the ink-stains on my fragile paper heart!

 

The deed being done, words become sutures, linking together

And piercing the skin, stitch the wound precisely and like a work of art.

Roses of ink-blood blossom against pale flesh, creating a macabre garden.

But,oh, the ink-stains on my fragile paper heart!

 

A gasp as pain tears through the hollow breast, vicious and unrelenting,

And tears cut channels through the cheeks, like the promise of spring and a new start.

With shuddering breaths and aching joints, the body forced to stand and the pen laid aside.

But, oh, the ink-stains on my fragile paper heart!

 

The words that body and mind scream out but nobody seems to hear,

And the emotions that take control in secret where no one can see me fall apart.

These things that are written, a battle cry fearsome to be heard.

These are the ink stains on my fragile paper heart!

 

* corazon is Spanish for "heart."  There should be an accent mark over the second "o," but I had technical difficulties and was unable to make it come up.