Ink is running out
Quickly, my child
You must spill your words
Let your story escape from
The confines of your mind
You must speak your truth
Each syllable, each syncopate
You must reach for the depths
Of your souls, broke and hurt
You cannot find in yourself any longer
Quickly, my child
You must flip these pages of your
Jarring faerie-tale ending
And rewrite the lines of error
Regrets and past promises
That could not be redone
Must leave your soiled papyrus
So write till your hands bleed
Like the ink of your fountain nib
Twisting sentences into a story unheard
That shakes the spines of the
Libraries of fate and future
But you must write quickly, my child
Because your ink is running out
And you story is in danger
Of being forgotten
