ink

Ink upon the darkness makes

no marks at all.

Scrabbling about in the shadows

nails, bleeding, fall.

Scratching at the doors

to my own damnation, I call.

Names of old, names forgotten,

slithering, from my tongue, they fall.

Fat, obese, they move upon

the trails I've left behind.

I beg them to stop, do not

witness my thoughts, my crimes.

But they continue, no heed paid

at all.

Those that came 

from the shadows

eat me, my past. 

They eat it all.

Slick with anxiety, I continue,

appalled.

Eaten, my fingers to the bone,

I watch, 

enraptured, enthralled.

This blood that erupts 

from my throat,

leaves no marks, 

not even silence,

upon these walls.