Ink

I miss, missing you,
I hate faking through.
Every night, it's a battle I fight.
I have no direction, there is no light.
I want to feel like I can tell you how I feel.
I want to heal, if healing makes me real.
None of this can make sense,
Because it's all in the past tense.
When things are too hard and I can't let go,
I grab my pen and let the ink flow.