Lines Wrote Upon My Wrist

Discoloured lines,
eligible echoes
of my needing to explain...

Unrecognizable syllables of
understanding
That I read upon everyday.

Ink so fresh when spelt out,
filtering my emotions.
Dripping down this slightly torn page.

Will I ever just put a line down this
repetition of unspoken
words wishing to bleed silently out.

If I write that last lyric, it will sing
wet upon this page.
Of sorrows voice, silently spoken, now vacant.