Fingertips pressing the tips of once flapping, but now abandoned feathers.

White sheets, tainted repeatedly with cursive letters and unreadable words.

Ink bottles and rattling tables above the knees and under the hands of a deliverer.

They never stop, It's like a drug in their system.

The ink staining the feathers, like IV infusion.

The words filling the once blank sheets, like chewable tablets being spat out.

It's the only outlet for the flood from multiple inlets.

It's only an overused feather, an ink bottle and a sheet.

So little, but lets out huge volume of meaningful nothingness.

. . .

Hey guys!  I'm still writing, just been dealing with other stuff.

So, I created a new book for uploading poems that are not mine.  The name is 'STAINED FEATHERS'. You can find it on my profile.

I'm accepting submissions there, so if you've got any, head over there.

Thanks for the support and getting us to 700+. I'm so grateful.

Adios till next update.

BLUECHERRYLUSH