Inkpaw

water flowing 
from the rocky
moss carpetted floor of the forest
magic
of the purest sort
running 
flowing 
changing

growing 
when the clouds cry out

shinking 

if you cut me
with knives made of paper

I will bleed
ink as black as death 

words will pour from my veins
in torrents and streams

never ending
or so it seems

my life is a poem 

some people say 
that what I'm made of 
is bones, skin, and teeth 

but I say I'm made of other things 
like wishes, hopes, and dreams

I am made of golden droplets,
tears cried for what was lost 

I guess I'm the man of the house now.
well. . . kinda. 
you left
and when you did
you looked me in the the eye
and this is what you said:

I remeber
that night
it was cold
and raining
the wind howling relentlessly outside my window
my cheeks were streaked with tears
from a dream I'd rather not recall
things seemed broken 
everything seemed wrong