Spilling (Over) Madness

Carelessly, I tried to etch my thoughts upon the wrinkled sheet
of cotton lined parchment. Perhaps it was fatigue or maybe
I thought our love had solidified to a point and coupled neat
Into a fine tuned instrument of savory oil based ink.

When the ink bottle toppled on its side,
I could do nothing to prevent the flow of sticky red
and my acidic blue;  my heart and spirit cried.
And within, a part of her I treasured  died  and
my feelings turned numb and dead.

In our relationship I believe
We sowed more than one madness.
And because I openly admitted mine
when the assault came I made it way too easy
for the victors to hound me into a crying madness.

Had I listened to her
Had I been logically sure
I would not be penning this historical  scrawl
of spilled smeared ink.  Damn, it used to be
colors of Green and Purple and Pink!
Now smeared dark – almost blackened red
and  black and blue bile like ink.

Now our ink well seems to be drying out
For nothing new is seen on her wall
And my pieces of shit can barely be seen
for the blue and the red fades to an eerie
almost lemon juiced effect.

I now have been reduced to cutting open
a vein to drip out at least something.
If she were here I’d make another drip
for her.
I have another wrist, after all
Don’t I?