She deeps her feather in the ink of her own tears
Dark, colourless ink, she scribbles.
Screams in the tears, pain in the heart – for every drop,
She writes, for her quench
The burning quench.
With every stroke of the feather – quench
Deep, engulfing quench.
Quench of the thirst.
Quench of the burning.
Burning desire to purpose.
The burning quench – eating up.
She is her and I am she
Screams in each tear, pain with every letter
Letter of the scribble on white.
Dark, colourless ink.
Every letter swallowed, every word gone
With the engulfing flame of the quench.
Silent wind blows, leaving the burning quench fizzle out
I see the smoke, smoke of the tears go up.
It makes a pool in his palms.
She deeps her ink again, scribbling
She is me and I am her.
Red – this time – I scribble.
Red, blood, sweat, tears, more tears.
Tears for the burning quench
Quench, alive – eating everything up on the inside.
*thump thump* The red beats
Rhythmically , against the white paper
She scribbles, I scribble
About the burning quench, this time.
With the rekindled beat in mind.