His Quill and my Inkwell

Ink cough

He was supposed to be the first love of my life. 

Everything strains me out. 

This was supposed to be my stipend. 

I have to give it to him. 

This is supposed to be my day, but I have to work for my lineage.

 When will I have my freedom behind these bars?

I'm weary, grinding for these bars to open. 

I'm afraid that when I flee, everything will perish. 

I was so stressed I started ailing.

You didn't paid attention to me nor my disease.

 I continued to put in my own time-consuming labor for you and our family. 

An ink blotted on my palms, and more inks came out. 

The world went pitch black. 

My thoughts, my blood, and my vision. I signed, I'm inked