I'm locked in a room with a desk and a chair.
I want my stomach filled, but the cupboards are bare.
I'm sitting here with only one option:
To continue to write, during this lock in.

Is writing a talent?
I say to myself, as I look over my shoulder at the book on the shelf.
What about Melville, and Shakespeare, and Twain?
The all have much knowledge to send to my brain.

But people these days just don't understand
That we can do more than just sing and dance.
There are so many talents that slide under the rug.
"I wonder what mine is".
I say with a shrug.

But then I remember that I am equipped
With a whole set of skills that are right on my hip.
They rest as a tool belt, and as a reminder
That if I wanted to, I could go farther.

[Hrm.]

[Looks like the whole first half of X has gone missing.]

[Well, I can’t let that happen.]


Sometimes, I wonder if X thinks of me.

         i sure do.



X is not desired as an object, but a person.


X.
24.
2.
4.
6.
Cardinal.

[Well.]

[That was quite a night.]

                 [Sure is getting boring around here, considering i only wrote this dingy warehouse ****** scene into canon.]




[You know what?]

[***** it, let’s write something while X is asleep.]

Afternoon

the       cold       autumn      air      feels      like       it      ‘BURNS’
        gently strokes my skin
the brisk, autumn air
very
      very
           lightly
    smells of
petrichor ‘and decay’

the partly cloudy sky bears
‘6’

     light
‘cardinal red’
drops
                that gently rest on my face
‘they burn’

this feeling

       its so ‘horrible’



[Oh great. looks like she wasn’t asleep.]

[She was learning.]

[Alright, I’m in.]

                           [Oh, goodness.]

[Well, that’s quite the scene you’ve made, X.]

                          [****** under the guise of suicide?]
[And despite that, you STILL couldn’t even do that right, dismembering the poor corpse?]
[In an abandoned warehouse?]
[Really?]
[While this whole scene is borderline grisly, I can’t help but laugh.]

[Ahaha....]

[I really did write this into existence, didn’t I?]

[A lover turned murderer.]

          [God, this is getting heavy. think i’ll stop with the sad stuff for now.]

          [Especially after seeing what I created, and the trouble it’s caused.]


[Wait, what was that?]

[Is that...]

[It is!]

[X is trying to get back in.]

[Welp, that’s out of her grasp, even with her power. So as long as i stay in here, I should be safe.]

[Ahahahah. She’s probably swearing like a sailor, wanting my head on a silver platter, huh?]

[Though I can’t hear or see you, I can sense you.]

[And I’m sorry to say that this game you have made is one you cannot win.]

When you write you use paper and pen...but when I write I use a knife and my flesh. You're a author so am I but my paper is my flesh and my body is my book. My words are little white lines wrote on my flesh as yours are real words on a peice of paper. When my day gets horrible I go into the bathroom and cut...cut....cut my pain away.

little red drops of pain
dripping again.

and i'm sipping on
the salt, telling my
brain, that there's a name
i need to burn.

I'm cold, and that's not a lie,
like the ocean i hold, of
delusion, and petty illusions,
that creates a ripple, in the
pond, and i find myself adrift,
and so on my own. in this
confusion.

give me knowledge,
questions. answers are
for scientists and the
redundant. i have an
abundance of those.

i hold myself close.
like thorns to a rose,
i'm my own sin,
nothing ever more.

i am sure, there's a door
somewhere to the light.
somewhere on the right,
away from sight and wrongs-
i've heard so many songs
about kisses and stars,
of names and scars,
i need something else.

i need a new galaxy,
to hold on-to and learn,
to cherish and then burn.

because it is only, i, here,
and i'm not the only one.

Being bombarded with temptation
Doesn’t dim the fireworks
That crash like the a Titan gait
Inside my heart
No exposed midriff will propel my drift
As my thirst can’t be satisfied
With the bucket and pulley water they fetch
This carnal passion I feel remains sky-lit
Bright and beautiful
All, because of you

you've written yourself into my story,
many pages and chapters you have starred in.

i have done the same.
at least i hope i am a supporting character.
but you're a close book,
and it's hard to see how i fit into your story.

our story.

the chapter we're on right now,
where am i?

tell me our story.

i held the pen you've given me years ago,
but i lost it yesterday.

but i was given a new one,
by a teacher who knew how i felt.

it's not black,
but green ink.

i want to know what character i play in your story.
the childhood friend?
the lover?
that girl at school?

because what you are in my story isn't just a character that passes by.

so i hold a new pen,
and instead of a monochrome story,
i hope i bring color to your life.
like how you bring red to mine.

Love doesn't fail
It withers without proper care
The roots gasp for the final drop
A drop, that is no longer there
When we shed light on our shadowed past
It should bring life
But care isn't attention
It's attention done right
Results may very
As the effort will change
But when all is lost
The seeds, will always remain