Addiction of Ink

Ink called my name like a late-night sin,

Said just one line, let the healing begin.

I swore I was done, said I’d learned my lesson,

But craving returned in quiet obsession.

It starts as a thought you casually keep,

A whisper that follows you into your sleep.

You picture the shape, the curve, the design,

Convince yourself this will be the last time.

The buzz feels honest, the sting feels true,

A ritual only the restless pursue.

Endorphins rise where the needle lands,

Pain turning calm beneath steady hands.

Friends say, slow down, you already have more,

But meaning keeps knocking like debt at the door.

Each mark a memory stitched to skin,

Proof of the battles you’ve buried within.

I chased that feeling again and again—

Not bottle, not powder, not lover nor friend.

Just permanence humming beneath my skin…

My addiction was never escape.

It was ink letting the story stay in