Spilled Ink


Very beautiful piece!

Spilled Ink

We are creation.

I don’t care who says it was an accident.

Have you ever spilled ink


into a perfectly written statement?

A statement that agrees,

that trusts,

that affirms,

until one day the truth that it has held so dearly, squirms


And all that is left is a broken fragment,

looking elsewhere for needs to be met,

in a desert all desolate,

longing for a purpose.

It longs for a penman, and longs to know that it

wasn’t just

spilled ink on a page;

an accident.

The fragment becomes a tragedy,

a very tainted masterpiece,

broken and groaning for its author

while in heavy chains not willing to release.

The spilled ink which is

blacker than black;

darker than the death

of which the broken fragment

can taste the sting.

The ink becomes blood,

blood that was spilled,

on purpose

into the greatest

love story

anyone could

View original post 3 more words


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s