Spilled Ink

Armed with nothing but my ball point pen,
I pour my heart out onto the paper as if it was spilled ink.
Once white with purity, innocence and bliss then
Tainted by countless black scars that make my spirits sink.
They drown in the sea of unspoken words
That are yet to announce themselves on the parchment before me
But they escape me like fleeting birds.
I cry and crumple the paper as it protests with a crackling plea.
After a few moments, I straighten it out again
But I know it will never be the same.
My soul is exposed and all of my pain.
What was once a fierce fire
of my passion and desire
is now an extinguished flame.

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