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.