my life isn’t water it’s more like ink

when i watch the snow drip
i focus i can’t help but think
what water would be like if
it froze it melted more like ink

my life isn’t water it’s more like
ink running slowly down the spines
of books roughly stacked piled high
some wet some torn all cast aside

a pile of old books leaking on their own
night conjures magic from tooth and bone
hardens proteins plunges them home
skewered the stacked books fall to the snow

the books bleed blacker than the sky
frozen i watch the snow i wonder why
books age days run slowly nights pass by
i melt into ink not water when i cry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s