The paper cries,
As I write these words,
It curses my existance,
As I stain it with ink....
It hoped that I never,
Never mared its pureness,
And never shared my grief,
Or wrote dark images,
Yet how can I stop,
Adulterating its innocence,
If the pages of my life,
Cry in vain,
And their black tears,
Soak my soul,
With yearning ..... yearning.....
Of poetic release...
