Traitor to the Words

The paper stays empty, devoid of words.
The quill lies on its side, the ink unable to stain the golden tip.
The words that used to flow, no longer can.
It is time to turn around, walk away.
Forget this part of life.
But yet, at the very edge of my fingers,
The words still quake—begging for release.
I no longer wish to write. No longer can I…
No longer.
The pain erupting from my heart,
The continuing pounding in my head,
The tension in my being…
I should write one more word…
One more line…
One more…
But if I do, old memories shall resurface.
Old memories shall make my eyes rain.
So, I must eradicate this part of myself.
Even if it kills the other half of me.
And I will forget the words that once made me smile.
The words I mothered as they formed a silent painting.
And so it had begun, breaking myself in pieces so I may never write.
Taking away the unwritten fantasies that dreamed,
Erasing the fact that these hands had ever written,
Ever created small worlds and pages of thoughts.
The desk always beckons me to return, to take my rightful place.
The desk, with the paper and quill, tempt me so.
But no, I shall not allow myself to write a single word.
I will let the imagination die, so I will eventually forget.
Who I am, who I was, who I had a chance to be.
I let them take it away; I let them made me believe I could not.
And I had abandoned the words that had comforted me.
For days and nights, I walked by that room.
For days and nights, I forced myself to sleep,
Pretending I had no thoughts of written dreams.
Years dragged by, my heart heavy, my being unable to go on.
On the day, when the blade would cut upon my vein,
I heard a small voice call to me. So very, very small.
But I could not hear what it said.
My feet moved, my feet moved, my feet moved.
Toward the room I had ignored,
Toward the room I could have never forgotten.
Until that day, under the dust, black ink stains the white,
I never realized how empty my heart was.
I never realized how betrayed I felt.
I sat at the desk, not knowing why I did.
Blowing gently, the dust dancing in the air,
One blackened word stained the white paper.
And it rang true.


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