Ink pours out first
Turning your skin a black
That only you can see.
And the words that swirl out
End up accidently etched
In the deep recesses of your inward life.
They spread malignantly
With soft tenterhooks,
Silent like the memories that have come
With their pitch forks to
Tear you apart,
Until
You’re reaching out to them
With all that you’ve got
To bring them all back inside
Where they belong.
But now, they’ve seen the light
They’ve created stains.
And all your reaching is doing is
Prying open your ribcage till you’ve
Moved into light,
Finding yourself in guilty harmony
With them.
~Ritika