The Ink is My Voice


There’s darkness.

And colors

Like rainbows

Like orbs



Inside of this corpse


But I can’t get it out.

I can’t claim it


My mouth—rusty window clammed shut

broken lock

numb fingers

Live pen


Water flows

Winged water

each molecule has freedom

yet they all bind together

like words in a stanza.


They flow.


A stone blocks the path,

The water still flows

a new vessel was found



Like rainbows like orbs

Light, life

suffocating in the darkness

Numb fingers


In the hold of the pen


black ink on paper

is light spilling out?

like the stars on the black canvas

of the night


To write

Is to release one’s own light.

To write


is to be.


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