Washing washing
All the ink
Scrubbing scrubbing
A porcelain sink
Rinsing rinsing
Dont stop and think
Wash away
All your fears
Did you hear that?
Footsteps near.
Falling, falling,
Through a crack you peer
Writing, writing
Your confession down,
Jotting everything
With a frown.
In words and ink
You do drown.
But Looking down
Blue is red.
Onto the carpet
They all bled.
Spatters on
The wall and bed.
All you have done
The blood that was shed.
You return to
Rinsing the sink
No longer can you tell yourself
That it is ink.
By the Brooke 