Titles are Overrated

Part 101

One day,

I fear I will not

know what to write.

That I will sit down

with an empty pen

and try to fill

all the blank pages.

I fear that

the words wandering

from my mind

onto the page,

into something other than feelings -

turned into something

I might understand -

I fear that they 

will disappear.

Like the dryness of

my lips,

it will be wiped away

and they will

become sealed.

Somewhere I cannot reach.

I won't be able

to say when

they're gone,

for the words

will simply

leave me.

All the ink

spilt for nothing,

red and raw

before me.

It'll just be

ink,

and the sun 

on my face

won't be warm.

The cold won't

shiver inspiration

onto my skin.

Everything will

simply be,

and I will

not be able

to describe it -

for my feelings

would have

consumed me,

swallowed me whole. 

mind as black as ink and blanker than a book