The red ink is beautiful,

It oozes from dark to light,

Brought upon this clean slate

With a sharp quill that glints in the moonlight.

Gliding along the paper,

The sharp quill glows,

As the red streaks trickle down

Staining the soft white sheet.

 

So thin is the paper,

So easy to tear,

When words stain its purity,

Scarring and marring its beauty.

But it doesn't matter because nobody saw the beauty before,

Upon the blank canvas the cool metal runs along,

As the author smile, while tears fall.

 

All the words used against her now a stain

Upon the paper where there is red rain.

The ink slowly trickling along the metallic tip,

Promising a form of grip

On a life where she feels lost.

A life where no one cares of the cost.

A life where no one sees the potential

For anything different is hideous and mental.

 

The quill so beautiful covered in red,

The ink is oozing in the flickering light,

Staining the sheet with the beautiful mess

The word that will kill her in her head.

So she takes the quill to end her pain,

And with the red ink her own life she will save.