Spilled Ink

You were a pen

Long, slender, and sleek

A sharp tip aching to cut through ink and paper

 

I was an inkwell

Dark, mysterious, and opaque

A glass jar sitting firmly upon a shelf

 

I was a broken lid

You were a jagged sword

Yet somehow we made our way towards each other

 

You thought it would be enticing if you dipped your pen into me

Swirled us together and made something beautiful

A splattering of black ink against the pure white parchment

 

You thought it would be alluring if you drew me out

Spread me thin and then leave my jar open

A set of fine lines marking your name held in suspension

 

You thought it would be acceptable if you used me to write your story

Discarded me and left me in a state of disarray

A shower of darkness pouring down my edges

 

You forgot I was only made of glass and ink

Fragile against tumult and maelstrom

And now you have tipped me over

 

Now I spill and I spill

Pouring black ink as it overflows onto new sheets of paper

Trying to figure out who I was before you

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741