Inked Memories

Scribbles weave stories in shades of gray,

left-handed dreams, on paper they play.

A streak of graphite across my palm,

words spilled like secrets, in a chaotic calm.

Under streetlamps where shadows conspire,

thoughts drift like smoke, caught in a wire.

Ink stains my skin, each mark a reminder,

of battles with night, where clarity’s kinder.