My Words

Sometimes

I’m embarrassed by my words

How could someone so quiet

Ever be so loud

So stunned and stunning

So shameless and bloody

Sometimes

I don’t know where they’re from

Or where they go

Why some get viewed more than others

Why I write for those who never read them

Or people I care for but never see

Sometimes

I write because I’m empty

Not for words themselves, but for peace

Solace in the hours after I come from the dark

Resting in the pain of my latest conquest

Sleeping in the innocence of dead left behind

Sometimes

I am like this Ink

Lasting only as long

As you let me

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