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Ink
to walk endlessly upside down on that woolly cloud cover
a frivolous escape from subtle menacing mundanities.
a blinding, deafening room that grasps my arm
my insides quiver yet externally i am forcefully held in place; perfectly still
to cut off my wings in a seemingly flightless world
an authoritative bellow of where my extremities lay.
ouch, i express mentally, as yellowed, chipped teeth that reek of cigars bite into my arm
their rough tongues graze my short hairs and leave burns in their wake
these vultures in rectangular motions above with beady eyes
that even within convey more humanity.
a numbed state of mind and tingling fingers with bitten nails, i exert my eyes to see
teeth marks; waves rushing through my veins until i bleed black
walking corpses that reek of elegant perfume laced with just a dash of absurdism
even in these lines i must conform and be soundless.
the ink emanates as i catch a glint that reflects my gradually sinking face
i wheeze profoundly yet noiselessly, attempting to catch my breath in my exasperated state
meekly stretching my pallid fingers to trace circles in the heavens
the only way to feel boundless; i n f i n i t e.
my back arches as my mouth, still ajar, hastily desiccates
a forced beam that stretches the wrinkles on my face
i sold my soul to a little man in an pitch-black coat
or perhaps a tall lady in a frill, milky dress.
a contemplation of my monochrome surroundings with a stoic face
my letter blocks are replaced with piled papers that i must compute, they tell me
a ghost that leaves splotches of ink in my wake
yet the only person i am haunting is myself.
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If we're not careful, society will squeeze every drop of ink out until it's too late. At that point, we are not living--simply existing.