writing, i write. i write and write.
pen on paper there's nothing that could stop me.
i pick up a glass of water and gulp it down.
one,
two,
four,
eight.
feels like i could go on forever.
one idea to the next.
the moon greets me in the morning
and my lamp beams its sunrays down on my desk.
one pen empty.
refill.
two,
four,
eight empty.
the ink glides through the white canvas.
veins visible.
eyes open.
only blink when necessary.
write. write. write
and write and write.
oh, i write i write and i write and hands never give out.
theres something strange.
i don't have red ink refills.
but the ink spreads, forming its own caligraphy.
it spreads and the red spreads.
but i continue to write, and write and write.
my heads dizzy.
its blurry.
i cant see the words.
this isnt good, i cant concentrate on my writing.
but i continue.
i write and write and write, write, write, write.
like a heartbeat.
i can hear my own heartbeat.
why can i hear my own heartbeat?
why am i breathing so fast?
the ink spreads, and the red spreads.
like vines, up above and onto the floor.
i cant.. hear.. my heartbeat...
i can't... see.. the paper.. infront of me.
the words merge.
"stop, stop writing."
no.
"stop, stop, stop, STOP"
no..
" STOP WRITING"
who would've guessed?
something tells me that this would be the last time i would drink from my glass of water.
its beautiful, the sunlight.
it lit up the corners of my room, disintegrating the cobwebs.
so pretty...
the red that splattered on to the walls.
my left wrist that littered with holes
and my right hand that gripped the pen that dripped red.