Etched in ink

Like pencil marks, them memories
I'd like to keep
So I can erase the scratches,
Trim out the ends
And stare at my perfect piece.

But etched in ink is every wound,
So hard to erase
Harder still to keep,
And etched in ink are the joys too
Never knew, they too hurt deep.

Time can be a funny thing,
For it has it's own ways.
Listen to me, it never would
Yet leave me, but amazed.

You know ink marks?
They fade away, they do.
Leaving behind traces
Of a rather melancholic hue.

And falling leaves,
And rusting iron
And cloudy skies
And you.

And lonely nights
And sultry eyed
And paced breath
My lips blue.

But etched in ink is every wound,

And inked are the joys too

But time can be a funny thing,

Ink marks fade away, they do. 

~