Bleeding Ink #1030


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 



I don’t know the ghost inside myself 

I left sometime ago 



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