Inkbreath -

a pen that bleeds

ink on pale sheets

which morphs to shapes

and gradient fields

into a notebook

I bound in black

embossed with names

of my once summoned saints

but the ones in need

the ones we need

are always coming back

a golden shield

shines and reflects

but wasn’t built

to parry all hits

to protect

a vulnerable spirit

in a fragile shell

or a thought in your head

you’ve never meant to tell

I feel haunted

and I blame everyone around

when I should blame myself instead

for a thousand reasons

which I can find written down in a book I wrote myself

And when I cross the last border

(from the once in need)

and burn this last meaningful bridge

(from the once we need)

I will finish the last chapter

(and they will never ever come back again)

and reach the final page of this manuscript

then I will just close this book…

carve my name in it’s spine and dare one last look

and for the memories

of my futures' past

there’s this shelf;

high enough

for my regrets to rest