I write when I laugh, when I am excruciatingly happy, or fullfilled
I write when sickness wracks my body, when I drown in coughs or sleep is brutally taken from me
I write when it rains, when the sun is burning on my skin, or the cool clouds sail past me
I write when I am abandoned, when my heart screams in terror and the void in me grows
I write when you fill my heart, when you easily take my body and make it all yours
I write,
no, I hold the pen but my stories are written by themselves. They are moved forward by my heart and my mind, with my hand as the medium.
Would I have a choice...
Would I want a choice?
as if, I have a choice...
