I hear ticking, clicking, rattling, clattering sound of the keys of the typewriter being clicked furiously, a sound so loud
that the insides of my ears are weeping in agony.
And then I wake up, with a sudden twitch
to room that has been abandoned by sun rays
due to the pastel black curtains covering the large windows.
I turn around to look at the other side of my bed.
Laying there are seven unread books and thirteen sheets of paper lamenting death of unfinished poems tucked...