With Every Drop of Ink
Every drop of ink I use-
Is like a drop of blood…
A bit of essence of myself-
A seeming, endless flood.
Revealing secrets unconfessed-
Obligations yet unmet…
A glimpse into my inner parts…
Some don’t care, and most forget.
A glimpse of what I might have been-
And many things I never was..
And yet I write, and write again..
Oh, tell me.. is there not a cause?
A cause! Why yes! To carve our names
Like children do on restroom walls-
Desiring but to leave a trace…
In life… before the Shadow calls.
Yet I am less, the more I write…
With loss of essence, we all shrink…
As blood from wrists, which have been slashed
We die with every drop of ink.