Teardrops roll down my cheeks and
the cream pages of my
The words that I’ve written
as they mingle
with the blue fountain ink
the words become incomprehensible
My feelings remain dormant in the
most testing of times and awaken
only when my hand is moving
quickly across the pages of the Moleskine.
To those looking at me from the outside,
I’m as unintelligible as the now disfigured
words in the diary.
My thoughts are lost
In the noise that has become
As comprehensible as when my tears
meet the blue ink oozing out
of my fingertips.