Pain, hurt confusions, the mighty tormentors...
I stagger towards my sanctuary, and pick up my pen,
A slight sting as the words start flowing, slow and steady, uninterrupted...
The page comes to life, a vivid display of feelings, as I write to my heart's content,
For a moment, a mere instant, I am the planner; I, the creator...
Concocting stories of forever, and ever afters,
Too perfect to believe, too comforting to let go...
Things I can only yearn for, dance to my tune,
My destiny, a mere puppet of which I am the master...
The facade continues, till my insanity ebbs away,
Until reality sets in, arousing me from my wishful stupor...
I lay purged of my feelings, empty, hollow, weak;
The ink from my pen, slowly running out...
The feelings, so vividly clear, dissolving into nothing,
The words so lovingly inscribed, fading away...
The ending of my story, within my reach,
As I close my eyes,
surrounded by a pool of my blood...
The blade slips from my hand,
punctuating the silence,
The final full-stop,
and my veins run dry.
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