This paper I Believe fears the ink from my pen

A solemn wish for an end and forced to begin

This could have been space for a favorite blank line

But oh no such luck for it is mine

I remind the page “You once were a tree”

Beautiful rings of growth smashed down at the knee

Mixed a pulp a mush dried for another use

Fancy the fucking abuse

This media does not ever grow familiar to these sketches

Ink bleeds and etches

Remember the days it stood to stare at the stars

Days that held no scars

Then it was rolled and pressed

These humans they say “we know best”

Turned to something white clean pristine

This page was so clean

I must confess

I feel a magical joy in this splattered ink mess

And imagine the rage

I just filled the whole page