The Imprint of Thought

My palm smeared with gray, fingerprints of thoughts,

each line a reminder, each letter caught.

In the margins of lists, wild scribbles appear,

waiting for coffee, I feel it near.

This ink stains my skin like the weight of my heart,

a ledger of feelings, a complex art.

Words break from the silence, escape to the page,

in the scratches of graphite, I find my cage.