The artist who remembered

Listening to the saddest songs I could play,
I'm sketching again,
But my hands lead me astray,
Back to your name,
The ink black lines glide,
All the curving letters I once wrote in pride,
And it hurts so much,
That for a while,
I just let the pen slide,
Smearing your name,
That used to be so precious,
In a black tide,
And I can feel the ebb of the feelings,
That once used to swell,
But now they only make me die inside,
I can't stop the tears from wetting this sheet,
Everything turns blacker still,
And yet I still weep,
Black ink,
Water running scarlet in the sink,
I see the stars outside the bathroom window,
And I remember,
I remember,
The way,
We used to be,
I go to sleep clutching the blade in one hand,
The other smeared in ink.

~Rei Shiori