I have a fear of ink.
Once on the page, it never leaves. It is bold in its presence and even with the use of water, or tears the ink never leaves, it smudges and drips down into the other lines of your page making it difficult to continue to write.
Ink leaks through and shows itself even after you try to move on and continue your pursuit through the empty pages of a novel yet to be written.
Ink rubs onto your skin after being in it for too long.
It stains your clothing and marks its territory with a violent explosion.
It gets in between your nails and fades away slowly.
I have a fear of all things permanent.
Once in my life it never leaves. It is bold and consumes you entirely, even with tears all it does is follow you into the other stages of your life.
It makes it hard for you to move on.
Permanent thoughts and events bleed into you like that intrusive ink, it gets under your skin and sticks around, only abrasive action makes them fade.
It gets to a point where it becomes too much.
The scars stick around like ink on a fresh white page, waiting to be discovered, questioned, perhaps even understood.
I have a fear of my past, it has been rubbed on my skin and can no longer be washed off.
It follows me even as I try to move on and it never fails to explode along with everything around me.
Peace. Love. Rock and Roll.