Ink Stained Hands

Leading down the road of eternity,
were hellish nightmares she knew.
Suitcase clutched between pure white fingers,
gripping it for the sake of living.
For a moment she looked at broken streetlights,
flickering in dark night sky like dimming dreams.
She turned in my direction, inside already dead,
Vacant of nothing but the soul she damaged.

Water slipping between his hands,
secrets leaking from the chamber he stored them.
Touching sand without noticing,
he wanted nothing except exiting the world.
Seagulls dived against ocean surface,
feet breaking the rise of the waves.
Intense eyes melting heavens,
then searching my face, already longing.

Mirror mirror glued against the wall,
never letting wrinkles fall nor rewinding time.
Tape playing at a fast forwarded pace,
strangers growing yet never watching.
Interacting without taking in the appearance
of the kingdom in which they live.

Forever wandering the streets.
Accepting her laugh lines,
though frowning upon society.
She sees me already knowing.

Nothing stood out about me,
just pen staining my hands
with crumbled papers on
my lap revealing thier stories.
Watching everyone meander
endless, helpless, tides...

I write.