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Ink

It’s not about the words, but the ink,
Blue and black in vibrant splotches,
Like bruises beneath skin
Victimized by hammering fists.
I want to plunge my arms into inkwells,
Into pools of lightstealing black,
And pour it over my body until I am
Enjambed with the stains of my skin
And only my eyes peer out.
I want to tilt my head towards heaven,
Pen upturned, and binge myself
Until my tongue and teeth are inundated,
Saturated as I am with ink.
I want to fill my belly,
Bloat and grow to bursting,
Paint the world with myself
Until only my ink remains.

This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
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