Ink Stains On My Destiny

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I've been stained...

It's a permanent stain that can not be washed out.
A stain on my soul, my being, my destiny...



The ink flows from the tip of my pen like a smooth stream of silk from a spider, only, I don't allow it to dangle, but rather I build my fortress on this piece of paper that I call home. My hands are blotched with permanent vivid details, and similes and metaphors line my palms. My fingers are wrapped around my weapon of choice as my wrist plays across my territory creating life and breath with every stroke. It takes not but a second for a character to escape my grasp and stick itself to the land on which I command it, bold and steadfast, fully equipped with a purpose and a history. I was born to give birth, to the very things that will change the course of life.

The alphabet flows across my college rule arranging itself in such a manner that I can not deny the truth that it speaks to me. With such a powerful blow, it is no wonder that words have held such significance throughout history, never fading, and never dissipating from mankind. I am the source, yet I am the instrument all at once. I am humbly a pen to The Author of Perfection who has written the greatest Love story of all. Just as He writes through me I release these truths to the world as my stationary no longer seems to be stationary.



I am stained...

My Soul, my being, my destiny....
It's a stain I don't intend to wash out if ever possible.

I'm stained for a reason...and it's permanent.

The End

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