Inkstains on my heart

I'm going to spill out and regurgitate every last thought I've had of you in the last twenty four hours, from every mark you've left on my skin, every strain in my heart, every stain in my mind, to this ink and pen scratching into this paper, bleeding into the fibers, and staining it forever.

I'm writing my life story in pencil, just to stay safe,
and I've written your name a hundred times over, a hundred different ways,
and I figure it's all right- it's graphite, it'll erase
… but it still leaves a stain, a scar.
I'll press down even harder, and maybe
if I wear away the fibers enough, you'll finally go away,
but then I realize that I wrote so hard,
your name is engraved,
engrained into the cracks of the wooden desk,
reflecting upon itself-
a dull, throbbing pain against the
light bouncing off of the varnish,
into my eyes, blinding me,
and forcing me to smile.

Every time I think of you.