A fountain pen
and a bleeding heart,
the ink won’t dry
as words fall apart.
The paper’s wet
with every tear
still the words
express each fear.
Emotion’s ripped
right out the soul
for each blurred line
takes its toll.
Painted memories
dull the pain
but black and white
is for the vain.
Pen to paper
ink to blood,
the poem is written,
in a tearful flood.

© Autumn Siders 2017

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