Bleeding Ink #1030

Tiptoe

5,611 days

Inside a house with empty rooms 

Without a view 

There’s no colour here 

I can’t breathe here 

I can only see grey 

I try to speak 

But my tongue is cut 

There’s a chair 

My hands are open 

A book

the pages  whited out

A typewriter 

The letters scratched out 

A pen 

Without ink

What is this weight 

What is this rope 

What is this room

The world is paper thin 

Waiting for the rain to come in 

Censor censor 

Censor 

Censor 

I don’t know the ghost inside myself 

I left sometime ago 

Tiptoe 

 

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