Only might pens could serve as my lips,
Countless of voiceless scream converted into piles of words.
Destined to craft stories with their happy endings
To open the gateway towards the world of imagination.
I glanced at the piece of glass showing my reflection .
Slowly, transparent drops of liquid blurred my vision.
I saw the stained blood on my ripped shirt.
And the shadow of my gloomy past awaken my rotten whole being.
These shaking flower-bud like hands of mine were holding bundled prickling pens
They’ll never create glittering lights like fireflies.
To occupy the spaces of faded thin sheets of luminous paper.
Crumpled sheets of paper scattered on the dusky floor spilled with mushroom soup and red tea.
I bite my upper lip until a single drop of red liquid reached my burning soul.
And wore my pair of eye glasses just to make things visible
For me to see the only light in the darkness,
To caress every single word through my ripped heart.
I closed my eyes to feel the cold breeze that envelops me
To stab the spirit torturing my vulnerable body and soul,
To slap my wounded face,
And for me to burst out the kaleidoscopic scent of truth.