I broke my pen
And played a quiet side character in my own story
Didn‘t even try to fix it
Because there was nothing to write without light and so far away from glory

I spilled the ink
Bathed in the blackness and let it color my soul
Didn‘t even try to wash it off
Because it felt so safe and familiar, making me believe that I could never be whole

I tore pages into pieces
Matching them together in ways that made sense to me
Didn‘t even bother to save them
Because this twisted picture was all I thought they could ever become to be

I closed the book
Tossed it in the trash and hoping for it to never be seen again
Didn‘t even try to stop myself
Because there was nothing I could do with my uselessly broken pen….

© BellaWritingHere