Spilt Ink

So many spilling thoughts

Injected ink lines

Hidden haiku's

Instant spurs

to be

unfelt, re-felt

Past voices silently tucked away, carried like an accessory or complimentary aesthetic to feed the feeling of self-connectedness

To nourish a higher being or allude a sense of security and certainty.

A place where your mind speaks with itself; uninterrupted but disturbed.

Unfiltered intentions, with uninhibited powerless action.

Rambling strokes

where your mind and hand sink into each other, melting together a sauce of silky drops and stolen licks

Words gain and lose meaning as fleeting as the days.

You find yourself along scribbled lines and drown in between their cryptic murmur.

Finding ways to solve a problem that never existed until the quick flick of your pen spoke before you did.

Creating a world with a population of you, your mind and whatever drags itself onto the train.

A questionable geographical purity

Do you become words you wish to translate into being or are you the translated version of the words already?

With note of added scripts from other lined pages

At what point do you reach a point? Is there a point?

Retracing back to blank

Untouched lines, you itch to fill yet find yourself on a race with your brain

spitting light beam information

hoping to spill your content only to spell out new whispers


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