A broken pencil,
A cold cup of tea,
By a broken pen, spilling black ink.
Some out-of-tune strings,
A knife that's sharp,
An open mind,
And a locked-up heart.
Pages that were torn
From an age old book,
The darkest brown eyes that never look.
Words unspoken,
Chains that wrap,
A bittersweet smile,
A sharp, forced laugh.
The burning sun,
The pouring rain,
His clueless mind,
And my tortured brain.
YOU ARE READING
Bleeding Ink:The Book of Poems
PoetryAn ever growing collection of my poetry. Some of it may be angsty but whatever. It's mostly how I get things off my chest... Enjoy
