Ink

In the end it didn't mean anything.
But hindsight normally is always just beyond the things you can see.
In the rearview, the same place you threw
Everything else you were tired of burying.

In the end you signed the paper with your metaphorical ink. got an inkling that you're trying to project your own thoughts of shame and discontent onto me.
And as your name dries on the page I turn to leave and I left and I said I'd never go back and I never did, so - please.
Leave me be.
And as the blood dried and scabbed over I ran away
Took my chances
And disappeared quietly