Why do you write, huddled over your paper all night?
Is it for the hope of fortune & fame?
Or do you just want the world to know of your pain?
Tears fall down your face splattering on paper.
A new ink to express the hurt in your life.
Shivering cold emotions draining away.
Filling the pages with words crumpled anguish will you ever be heard?
Scribbling faster, footsteps comeing up the stairs, heading for disaster.
Door bursting open, try to hide the fear, the tears.
Drunken fist hits, where lips were meant to kiss.
Blood splatters a fresh ink on the page, silent your rage.
Been here before, lying on the floor, gasping in pain.
The beast leaves you to find something new to blame.
But you rise up, force back the bile, feeling so vile.
Self hate, they underestimate your will.
Pick up the pen, the quill, express whats within its a new ink on the page.