A lovely poem. I really need to write everyday non-stop; playing TOO many videogames lately!

Writing from the Margins

A little something that wouldn’t let me go to sleep last night until I had written it down.


She writes with the blood in her veins, but it is not blood that runs in her veins. It is ink.

And the ink gets heavier and thicker with each passing day.

With each day, her skin is parchment, something for the world with which to play.

And when the ink grows to thick and the burden to great, she sits down and takes up the pen.

She dunks the pen into the inkwell that is her heart and she writes and writes and writes.

Writes out all that pain of the passing days.

The sorrow, the anger, the love and the joy.

She writes it all down, until her heart is empty and there is nothing to write down anymore.

The papers stack up in her apartment, but she doesn’t throw…

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