Whenever I hold my pen, your mouth will always appear in my head; a warning of the restrictions I must remember. The fragile paper trembles as it waits for the words the ink will place upon its skin. I cannot take off its edge, knowing the thoughts are repressed; a compacted string of lies.
As a writer yourself, you do not want me to fly to my island; you want to indulge the traditional writings as it appeals more to the eyes of wicked editors. I want to curse you and your beliefs, but I just kill you in my secret journal. You do not deserve to live in my head.
The paper shouts as my tears touch its sacred grounds. I fear the rage I feel; a vigorous darkness emerging. The veins of my heart splinters as my breathing turns ragged. I tear the paper with my angry fists and growl. I stride outside the balcony; the city lights are brighter tonight.
I light up my first cigarette for you.
WORD COUNT: 171
Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.