Ink

I wrote this poem, I wish I could leave it untitled so you didn't have an instant thought of what it would be about. It would keep you wondering. It would let your imagination explore. -Brie-anne

I choke them with ink,
I slash them with words,
and I print them with pain.
I click as they choke and don't care,
the ink is poisoning their purities.
It's damaging their outer cores.
As I pull this impure damaged sheet from within me.
I notice I created words.
Not just any words.
Unspoken words.
Evil words.
Full of possibilities and hope.
Angry words of frustration.
Sad words of despair and depression.
Words of lust and love.
Wonder and awe.
Ink, the creator and killer of all words.

Author's Note

What do you think of this?
Anything you would have done differently?

Reviews

[LegitLiquid]

I really like this, I can feel the emotion :)

[Brie-anne Gaccioli]

Thank you! I always try to push my emotions into the poetry, even when I'm in complete happiness I can write deep dark poetry.

[Sami Khalil]

A nice one...:)
"Angry words of frustration.
Sad words of despair and depression.
Words of lust and love."

[Brie-anne Gaccioli]

Thank you ! :)

[Sami Khalil]

You are welcome...:)