Direct From My Temples

I write as if there is something to write. As if my head is overflowing with devious thoughts and shattered beliefs. I write as if rage is pouring out my nostrils the moment I stop inhaling the toxicity air. I write with my quill, needless of any inkwell since its tip is connected to my open wrist. Blood gushes from within and unto the paper as my heart pumps the scarlet poison. Direct from my temples, my words are immured by arteries. An infinite inkwell. A terrible tragedy.