Basically I was having lunch today for my 30 minute lunch break and then I decided to write some words before I got back to work. I got as far as you're about to read until my pen died. I now feel like carrying an ink pen and bottle everywhere because then at least I'll have ink (but then comes the risk of it leaking into my shoulder bag...
A lot of stinking
wetched walkabouts.
Drowning deep
within their sorrow.
The rest left to ponder...
What world awaits me
beyond creativity.
What darkness prevails in me,
when watching your heartbeat.
Nothing is ever right.
No one is ever pure.
What is dreamt within us,
leaves us broken, not cured.
... but then again, maybe it didn't need anymore written and the pen dying was giving my writings perfectionism... one can hope...
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