All I Ever Taste Is Ink

All I ever taste is Ink

What to think 

Part of the chains but no link 

Pour my heart out in a drink 

But all I ever taste is ink 

Pride goes down in sync 

Not crazy but perhaps on the brink 

Feelings clogged in the sink 

Makes me sick, I’m ill 

Left with no filler, only a utensil

All of these words feel like a stencil

Even still

These sketches remain tensile 

Holding me up inside, I’d call it a pen cell 

As it seems I’m locked in my pen still 

Yet the key always seems to be my pencil

Turns my blood black, like an ink-blood pen cell

Let it flow over as my cup has already been filled 

To quench my thirst I have to think 

I pour my heart out in a drink

And it’s no wonder that all I ever taste is ink.