Ink on Paper
Ink on paper.It was not easy flowin'.
Not like the blade on her skin
Making subtle patterns,
Mixing the old scars with the new ones,
Blending the fading white with the new swirls of red.
Ink on paper.
Her pen could not move,
Tears smudging the jittery letters,
Almost holding her back from going that extra mile.
Blurring the black and white on the paper,
Screaming into the hollowness she felt inside.
Ink on paper.
That's all they found,
After they'd removed her body.
The blood had pooled around her,
Cocooning her in warm crimson.
Finally at peace, her face held no more stories or nightmares
Than the ink on paper.
Poetry by Lopamudra Sasmal
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Written on 2015-06-21 at 16:08
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