ink beyond my fingers

Pouring all my heart with bitter sweet words onto an ink stained page, although I know, all my feelings may never be converted into simple words. Even though millions never ought to express themselves through letters, I nourish myself upon the ink beyond my fingers. But when all the complexity of my emotions is finally gone, I’m being left with the simple question: Is it really ink or is it rather my blood pouring down on the pages of my life?


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