Dry Ink

Ink-stained pages, a pen that never runs dry,
She pours her heart out, her thoughts reaching the sky.
Words flow swiftly, like waves crashing on sand,
But deep inside, she knows she's in a different land.
A girl with dreams, her imagination so bright,
She writes for days, vanishing into the night.
Her stories come alive, characters born from her mind,
But little does she know, life is no longer kind.
Her words are echoed, but she's no longer here,
Lost in the shadows, drowning in her own tears.
A ghostly existence, unheard, unseen,
Her passion lingers, trapped in a world so mean.
She longs to turn the page, to start a brand-new tale,
But the inkwell is empty, and her spirit grows pale.
Her pen lies idle, no joy left to create,
A girl who loved to write, now forever sealed by fate.