Stained

Ink leaking on pure white
One letter after another
Forming words,
Then thoughts
It spreads quickly
There's nothing you nor I can do
The only person who cant stop it is the artist
The prisoner of words
But they'll never stop
Just like I never will either
We can't
Tormented by too many things,
Our only release is through this ink
It's for survival
We're not concerned about what you think
Or if it even makes sense
All we want is the ink out of us
So we're no longer tortured by that thought
The words
The memories
But there's always something more
Always something new to be tormented by
So the ink flows once again
Staining what was once so pure and white
But in this never ending cycle
The true thing becoming impure is the heart
With each stroke of ink adds a drop of darkness there
Soon all we'll have left is the darkness
But that won't stop the ink
Not even then
For once our heart becomes tainted by the dark
The ink is all we truely have left