In Ink from Hollow by Einfallen

In shadowed rooms where candles bleed
I scrawl my thoughts in silent grace
To ghosts that neither want nor need.

The ink runs dark across the page
A quiet grief I cannot name
A storm confined within a cage.

No eye shall find these words I spill
No voice reply, no hand reply
Yet still I write, and write I will.

The night is deep, the stars are shy
Their light too faint to find my soul
I breathe in verse and exhale why.

Each line a wound, each rhyme a toll
The quill, a thorn that digs too far
My blood becomes the poet's role.

I trace my thoughts like fading scar
Across the vellum of despair
While silence watches from afar.

No one will read, and none will care
But still I pen, in ash and air—
Forever lost… yet always there.

Each line a wound, each rhyme a toll
The quill, a thorn that digs too far
My blood becomes the poet's role.

I trace my thoughts like fading scar
Across the vellum of despair
While silence watches from afar.

No one will read, and none will care
But still I pen, in ash and tears—
Forever lost yet always here.

• Metal
• goth
• goth rock
• gothic
• gothic metal
• gothic rock
• hollow
• ink
• poem
• poetry
• writing
• Buenos Aires