[I don’t want to give you the impression I’m depressed now – so I better let you know I wrote this 10 years ago.]
Ink
There is a black blob of ink on my paper
and no amount of dipping the pen
will tidy the stain.
There was an inkwell sunk into my desk
and I used to gather a load of liquid
to decorate the page.
As the tool for writing became a fountain
and I learned to collect my ammunition
leaks came and pus dribbled.
This pool is drawning me down into its depth
and I’m too heavy to float in filth.
I need a good clean.
From Bath to Cork with baby Grace 
😢😢😢, I’m so sorry that you ever feel sad.
I get that way, but there is something insides me that yanks me back to the reality of family and life. It is my ammunition to go on.💕💕💕
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