Poetry / Get Inked

Hollow contentment dripping from fingertips,

Swirled pads that haven’t gripped a pen in ages

Steadily moving across lines,

The nub carving black ink across memories that refuse to fade

Thickening silhouettes and crosshatching shades of emotions

As he runs stained hands through his hair,

Tugging at the roots

As if shaking the strands will dislodge his troublesome thoughts

And jumpstart his brain into activity

Mustering up the energy to lift the edges of lips and the corners of eyes

When he’d rather curl into himself

Half life

Missions discarded

Can’t quite temper the doubt and fears enough to alleviate

The embarassment locked deep within

That flushes out the cold fear of being alone

Far be it from him to control his thoughts and actions

He's aware he's lost control

But however much he attempts to run away,

We’ll have time to soak in sun soaked dust motes without a care

To meet at some obscure cafe

Despite being locked away in different wings of the same crumbling house,

Isolated in our dreams.