i tried to write the beauty.
my ink withered and died. i wrote music,
the syllables left the pages.
i wrote romance,
the pen's nib got broken. i wrote flowers,
the petals fell off the stem. i wrote sun, moon and the stars.
their love died.
i wrote fairytales,
the world collapsed.
but when i wrote darkness,
the ink dripped endlessly, like life is my veins. the paper tortured me to write even more.