Pen in hand,
now lay to rest those scars.
Let them paint your brain with pain no longer.
With eyes swelling,
let your quill release those tears,
in the form of black,
transitioned from pen to parch.
Control is no obstacle,
as your mind is unleashed,
with ink a weapon of passion,
a deafening silence of bewilderment
is now scratched upon your paper.
Although love is the pinnacle of your creation.
words of brazen are bestowed upon the work.
With such a tempestuous night,
these words only fit so well.
and such contempt it welcome so.
As you muse in an awestruck manner,
at the art you have just created,
those tears are now shed upon that paper.
Although complete you still feel that
something,
everything is missing.
With three words now inscribed upon this piece,
it is now folded to precision
its marked with two names,
and sealed with a kiss.
 
Copyright © noochwick, All Rights Reserved