my pen ran out of ink and now all i can think of is to write write write. it ran out after a short quarter of a page. i have thought to borrow a pen, to leave some sort of collateral, to purchase said pen. i want a cheap pen piece, capable of writing. if i had a stick, i would dip said stick in ink, melt some paint from walls, smudge words out in burnt charcoal color. i don't have words to immortalize on paper, only slow, thick rambling words strung haphazardly together in some loose meaning now shadowed. oh man, if i had a pen i could write you a sonnet. if i had a pen i could give that choking guy an emergency tracheotomy. if i had a pen there would be no stopping me. i would graffiti the walls with wisdomless obscenities. i would write a poem about my dead mom that would get you closer to tears, but not actually make you cry. if i had a pen i would stab you in the face with the blunt end. WHERE IS MY SYMPHONY OF WORDS?
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