The words are hanging from my quill
And fall on the paper white.
They cry and weep and can’t stay still.
Falling all through the night.

I no longer exist they are all I can be.
As the candle burns it’s light.
The inks blue veins takes the blood. From me.
In every poem I write.

One day my lonely heart will stop
With no more poetry
The quill will dry the ink will clot
And it will be the end of me.