Be careful not to spill the ink. I will be mad and in the event lose my sanity. I don’t have anymore left and I don’t know anyone who can spare some. That look is ugly,Stretch out those lines on your face, they make you look old. And dumb.
My heart almost jumped out of my chest when I had an urge that you would paint my desk black. I know you won’t because it’s black alright. But the lose would bleed my soul dry of peace. It would wring me of purpose.
Get a better handle of those fingers which won’t rest at a spot for a moment. They are all over. Touching. Sifting. Turning. And now they are graduating to spilling. Or they almost did was it not for my refined sixth sense.
I hate those liquid eyes. Their stare is gruesome. They are cold and evil. I think it offers me an insight into your heart. Although it is dark in there, I can barely make out it’s shape. it is a horrible sight to behold.
When you speak of love you plant hatred in me. Your cracked lips certainly don’t know how to spell the words well. It is the way it comes out it suddenly turns sour, a transformation I loathe.
I am getting another baffling note. That you are against my penning of the letter to that beautiful girl in my dreams. It makes your stomach churn this letter. It raises a giant wave of jealousy in you like yeast does the dough. It makes your insides cook with anxiety.
And with those thawing eyes in the chill of the evening I can feel that you hate that you love me and that is why I love you. But please spare the ink.