a blank page opens up to me. a page that still hasn't born the weight of your name, or my words about us, or the ink my blood makes when these thoughts hurt.
it's become less blank, less virgin, more tainted. i ruined it, knowingly. because i bear a tumor that i need to pour somewhere. and this little white innocent thing is collateral damage.
we've become so tainted, so dirtied. so bad and so good. so evil, so starved for soul food, for heart solace, so lost and so repentant. the page might have been blank one day, but that was long ago and now it's a scroll. now it holds what eyes can read and hearts can feel and that's miles better than