Dripping Ink (Lauren Hay)

This Is How I Write

This is how my pen will move

A gentle scratching makes persistent aches fade

The restless wanderlust will and will frayed

When myself I seem to lose

This is how my pen will move.

   This is a nest of pencil shavings

   A warm embrace and paper hearts keep burning

   Crumpled pages, casualties of some war waging

   And in between scraps of vagabond phrasing

   This is a nest of pencil shavings

This is how my story goes

It leaps from the lamp and its lullaby light

It slinks under blinds that bleed blind night

It creeps about like a wild rose

This is how my story goes.

   This is a dream on tiptoes, creeping

   Bundled in baggy clothes and woolly socks

   Quiet is captive behind doors we’ve locked

   This is the lull when love is sleeping

   This is a dream on tiptoes, creeping.

This is what I’ll teach a soul

A safety net we’re forever breaking, in sanity

Chasing us to heights, we breed this black ability

And that is how a girl will fall

This is what I’ll teach a soul.

© Dripping Ink (Lauren Hay)