pens
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Bleeding onto pages
its heart has been pirced
An aversion to the spill
They say the felt feels
too loud to see
The crimson color
Makeing meanings unclear
Only blue or black
No Thank You.
I don’t want the stress.
Senior year, college too
No Thank You.
I can’t deal with it.
Not all of the work.
I can't live without pens.
Strange, considering a couple things.
Pencils are better for note taking.
Typing is more efficient for essays.
Paint flows cleaner onto canvas.
Talking quickly expresses opinion.
The pen is my compass
The paper my sail
They take me to new places
On a see of words and dreams
I've got so many of you.
Many different colors.
From red to green,
Black and blue.
I've got lots of you.
You are so smooth.
And, you seem so nice.
You are like my best friend,
Tired,
to even when the pen scratches paper,
an uneven blank etched scrawl,
It mirrors the state of mind,
a crease present now and for all the pages to come,
Over lines and crossing through spaces,
If I may only have my hands for companions
And must live my days
On a bed in the darkest hole
Then let me have a pen
Let my eyes grow weary from squinting
Let my fingers cramp
I can smile and look at everythingTwisting a strand of hair with my finger,A childish expression i wear to pass the time. Until then I am wasting my time skipping and stepping on broken leaves,My toes growing numb from the water soaking into my sh
