The blank page is stained,
Ink bleeds into spiders limbs.
Spreading through the fibres,
With arachnidian pace.
Beige pulp tainted,
With the neatest script.
Obsessive pause before touching the page,
Then letting go for words to take control.
Loosing time to pages,
Hours to rhyme.
As the heart like cartridge,
Drips into words.
Tracing my signature,
Like figures on skates.
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