INK

 I exchanged my ink for blood
My poetry became like a flood
Of putrid, rancid, dying mud

I exchanged my ink for tears
My poetry reflected on the fears
That I had been hiding for years

I exchanged my ink for piss
My poetry a relief that was bliss
Toilet humour most critics would dismiss

I exchanged my ink for cum
My poetry changed who I’d become
Of all things erotic I had to succumb

I exchanged my ink to invisible
My poetry critiques unforgivable
Thankfully now only self critical

I exchanged my ink to dust
My poetry hard to encrust
Its’ morals not easily sussed

Let my ink always be ink
My poetry completely in sync
Expressing what I really think