There is a creek in my blood stream,
Where the ink flows and my words float.
They rush through my body, melded with the blood
Drop by drop, intoxicating my being.
As my body hums, as it goes numb.
With blood it gushes through the empty vessels,
Containing them, fulfilling.
It turns back from the edge of my lips,
Seeping to a stop, at my fingertips.
From there it flows out, pouring on the paper
Draining from my body, the infinite supply.
The ink blemishes, never running out
Spilling onto the white,
Marring the pure blankness.
-Momina.
