Inky Creatures

As I write
the words have grown
tiny legs and arms carry
them up my fingers.

They dance in the cracks of
my dry skin and lie
in between the wrinkles in
my knuckles.

Gnawing at my flesh, causing
craters to form, filling them
and smoothing them over with
precision.

They wrap around my
fingers, crawling back
up the pen and into the
color, blending with the dye.

Closing their eyes, their bodies melt
together and fall through the tip of
my pen. The shapes conform but my lines
start to stutter, my sentence falls
short.

It seems,
I have run out of ink.