Ink and Blood

Thomas W Case



There is a gravity to sadness,
a slick weight that drags me
down into a rusted well,
walls wet with old despair.
Anxiety, like spiders,
hides in the dark.
I claw at the edges,
my nails breaking,
fingers smeared with darkness
and blood.

I jump.
I fall.
The ladder’s missing three rungs.
Even the echo forgets me.
Shadows curl around my ankles,
whispering, laughing,
like old friends turned enemies.

I put one foot in front of the other,
fingers raw,
knees scraped,
breath ragged
as smoke
in a Neighborhood Tavern.

Hope drips in
through cracks
in the walls,
thin light
like whiskey
in a chipped glass,
long-lost,
bitter,
warming my chest.

I rise.
I’m lifted.
I move on.

Sanctuary waits,
an ink pen glows
in the candlelight,
and I take it,
put it to the paper,
and it all resides
deep in my chest.

 

  • Author: Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: January 20th, 2026 08:44
  • Comment from author about the poem: Thank you to everyone who reads, listens, and keeps showing up here. The support matters more than you probably know. My books are available on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/stores/Thomas-W.-Case/author/B0CL2RKDGX?ref=sr
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 15
  • Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell, aDarkerMind
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Comments +

Comments7

  • sorenbarrett

    Black despair calls out of this poem. It claws at the mind with those same broken nails and I taste acrid water scum chewing on bugs and brush cobwebs from my eyes. It is vivid and grimy full of grit to chew on. Well written Thomas

  • Friendship

    Well written Thomas

  • arqios

    As we move and get through, the comfort of paper joining the writing instrument is a true comfort of depth🕊️🙏🏻

  • orchidee

    Good write T. Should I appear on video and sing my poems? Aww, why they say:' Noooooo, unbearable!' heehee.

  • gray0328

    Your poem vividly captures the journey through depression and anxiety toward self-expression and renewal. It uses visceral, physical imagery — falling, clawing, bleeding — to represent emotional struggle, and contrasts darkness with the faint, growing light of hope. Writing itself becomes the sanctuary at the end — the act that transforms suffering into meaning. Well Done Brother

  • Paul Bell

    Sometimes you have to get down to the depths of despair to rise.
    Makes the writing grittier, knowing that you never want to go back there.

  • NafisaSB

    despair, and then hope - both so well portrayed...



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