Black Ink

Our ten years of billion litres of ink and shifting mind are packed in one convenient box of books
Wondering if someone else shed tears for the commemoration, I caress the clean cover and wait for a reply
But not even one returns
Pitying oneself for the ignorant of this dimension, I stare blankly at shells wavering with soulless thought
It’s in the thin layers of watercolors that I find a place I belong
Teal eyes, green hair, painted skin
It’s in the clicking black blood that I hide myself within


.Blambodee.

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