You’re like an ink pen.

My favorite ink pen.

With that thick, black ink.

Streaming from the pen.

Flowing to the paper.

Filling it with

Hopes.

Dreams.

Wishes.

Nightmares.

Fears.

Love.

Hate.

Fate.

You’re like an ink pen,

Staining my fingers.

Black marks I can never erase.

Marks on my hand lines,

Marks on my heart line.

I’m terrified,

Because ink may not wash off.

You’re like an ink pen,

Gripped tightly in my hands.

Because I’m afraid,

That I might set you down,

And someone else will wonder off with you.

Afraid you won’t be my ink pen any longer.

You’re like an ink pen,

With ink that bleeds through the pages.

I wanted you on one page,

But you’ve touched them all,

Bleeding your ink on each and every piece of me.

You’re like an ink pen,

My favorite ink pen.

That I know will soon dry up.

So I cap it,

Relapse it,

And let the ink run dry.