Ink
with acuate nib
you trace my skin,
inscribing the slimmest contours
next to your old scars
what is this book you write
in blood and darkness
what shadows your mind
and guides your pen to slaughter
that you want to see me
unhinged, demented,
vanished into your words,
irrecoverable
do you crave the death
you cannot have
so much that
you must find it
in others
scratching at me
with furious strokes
as if to blot out
your own poison
until I am made
a volume of nonbeing,
indited in scars,
obliviated by ink
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