Helplessness

Excuse the random gibberish of this blog but it comes more in the form of a random thought than actually text and for that I can only apologise.

“As the paper is torn with the blood stained pen, a light shines through but that light only shows a deeper and more disturbing darkness, the writer has finally realised their mistake and discarded the page to write again but it keeps tearing under the bloody pen that has no soul, no life left in it, is the writer dead? Have they no feeling left as the pen continues to tear away at the pages? Has the writer gone into a deep unsettling madness or have they become decayed? The writer is not aware as they throw these pages aside, they are not dead but feel like corpse tossed aside in heap among the others. The writer’s dream has left them even deserted them upon this mountain of the dead. The pen falls through the mainly torn pages and the writers blood follows with it. It is not rejection that has made the writer cast down their pen but a different enemy, one the writer didn’t intend to face alone and afford. What will become of the writer with a dead weight dream? What will become of the corpses surrounding them? What will become of the others that trend the very same path? The writer hasn’t given up but feels nonetheless empty inside, numb and isolated as they lay dying. The pages torn are now scattered in the wind, pages that reveal the writer’s story, the writer’s dream and their ambitions, now they all lye dead in this bitter pile of decay and chaos. Will the writer be saved? Can the writer save themselves? That is the question”~random thought

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