Under My Sofa

Black

Harsh words used to rip into my skin
Splintering spines in the space within
Lungs tearing like pages, paper so thin
Ink spouting from the very veins
That network through my soul and pain
Holding my body together
And binding my soul to the flesh that remains
Veins pumping ink to keep me sane
Bitter ink that split like blood
But never red
Black words are what flow to my heart and my head
To muscles that strain and bone splinters that shred
Hidden under this guise of red
But black
Black like the words that spear my back
Black like ink replacing the blood that I lack
Black like the bones that my insides crack
My world held together by realms of black
Prick my finger and I'll fall into sleep
With the bead of ink that the pinprick weeps
Sign my life as yours to keep
The paper the contract is written on
Is the thin fragile sheet that makes up my lungs
So every time I breath too deep
The words press into my ribs' rungs
Sear black burns into black bone
With the hot ink that I once called my own
Take my very blood and twist it as yours
Tear me open, expose my flaws
Crunch my thoughts between your jaws
Each phrase you speak marks another clause
And when you breathe to take a pause
I know that words will just hit twice as strong
The black ink, my heart's blood just plays along
It's not really alive and neither am I
Though the words you speak are almost lies
They shred away every scrap of skin to fly
Up into a rich red sky
Part of me escapes but my soul still can't fly
I'm rooted to a black earth by black ink
With each word you speak my body shrinks
My heart is the only part of me that still thinks
And all too rapidly it sinks
Into the black soil at my black soul's feet
Where all the demons revel and greet
The ink-stained heart that holds no heat
My body now is scattered in the breeze
A web of veins pumping ink hold the keys
To unlock my soul, to unfreeze
The vessels that stay as the bones chip apart
The black secret inside it, a caged heart

***

That got dark real quick (excuse the pun) and actually this wasn't how I intended it to go.

Surprising as it may seem, I'm fine. Actually, I'm quite happy right now, so it's strange that this is the moment this poem came to me, but perhaps I just felt more comfortable in processing thoughts as I was more relaxed.

I actually like black, you know, it's rich and calming, but I was thinking about Sirius and how much his surname must weigh on him after all the things it's been used to excuse.

This is sort of a portrayal of his emotional state in Askaban, but of course it doesn't need to be read as such.

Alex xxx