Ink

Whirl me around in this time, this space And promise me we’ll never leave this place. Bonnie, it is true I came for you When the mania took me by surprise. Fountain pen will write these words as my energy does rise. Drum, drum of my heartbeat, I can’t sit still upon this seat. The poem’s jumbled, vision blurred. I’d revise it if I could make out a word. I want to drive with Humbert in a beaten up car And go to places strange and far. I’d let him do just as he pleased But I don’t think his type is me. I am cancer, I am death Breathing in these hurried breaths While I write hate notes and call it journaling Because Bonnie’s really just a thing; An object that I can put my pen to And someday later bid adieu. Stand near, save me, Bonnie, do Because everyday I write in you. But you’re so silent, what is this ink that’s spilled? I’ll tear you up and have you killed!