Wet Ink Smudged Our Story

There’s a part of me 
That’s just for me
That he can never have
Loved me until he thought he knew me
But I don’t even know me, or what hidden layer might reveal itself right before he begins to Lose interest in our story
I’m a plot that keeps him open
My pages depart not only like my legs but like how we talk and I jolt him awake with words finessed like a paid lyricist
I am his dope
A rope binding him to keep reading my unfolding series where the ink digs into words after being wet from tears provoked by fears of my fated loneliness
As I find a way out of our story to smear and smudge our beautifully constructed lines, now a blur.
By Janell Hihi Copyright@2017

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