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