There is a boy who found love in papers, There is more ink than blood beneath his skin. They say when he bleeds, the poems he never dared to write spill from his veins like a confession that never found paper. Not red, but that thick blue-black liquid drips, from the places he hides pain, and every drop whispers a line That he never dared to speak. His heart is like a library locked by trembling hands. His silence Talks more than any word ever could When he smiles, the corners of his mouth shapes like quotation marks, pausing between the love he never got and the lines of poems noone ever saw He doesn't cry. He doesn't bleed. He inks. Ureshi renzou 🍙 Harith kaelash🍀