SHAPES.

We drew on a ragged canvas laid damp of our tears
The most picturesque of shapes that unfold our dire fears
Moving stories in strange figures only you and I could understand
The canvas then dried up and bore the work of our hands

I don’t know what swarmed my senses when I took hold my pen
I desired to ink the shapes that, for us, was perfect then
Then I came to learn my desire was just not of your own
Because when I started using ink…

Damn it…

I drew alone.