liar.

liar. you don’t write? Bullshit.
Turn these pages. Now.
Can you see them?
Can you read them?
All yours.
It was a blank page and a cylinder of ink, but no longer.
A flick of the wrist and voila!

you did this

you did this.
you wrote this.
it’s you.
with your cannbis buyers pen, wearing gym shorts and needing a shower.
there are clothes on the floor, bags, books, shoes, paper.
not you.
you are above, alive and real.
you are loved and wanted and real.
so very real.
and you did this.

scrawling

the pages the pages they fill
letters and symbols
tumbling like fever out of the life
they exist half in the brain
                     half in the pen
entombed on the sheet
alive for a moment
a parchment meterorite

careful what you wish for.

do you ever wish you could write in blood?
that your pen would overflow and the bright crimson ink would drip drip drip down and stain the floorboards?
that what you have to say could be carved so deeply into someone that no one would ever forget?
that your handwriting would forever scar the face of the planet [...]