Sinister Ink

Trying to find muse outside of darkness

SINISTER INK


Darkened soul that inspires my prose


I find no pleasure in composing joy

I want to be possessed with the muse of grief

I want to feel my blood spill from the tip of this pen


Penning a smile feels deceitful, artificial

A betrayal of my loyal, forgiving pain


This flame that grows within you has restored me

And severed me from the comfort of sinister ink