Curse

Please don't curse. 

It's a big word. 

Things like shut up, damn, heck, hell, shit, bitch... 

Are they any less severe? 

 Is a curse not any worse than that? 

In anger, is it not murder? 

 Yes, you do feel that it is justified. 

(In a way it is true, it is justified, she does deserve it.) 

But asking God to curse? 

 By asking questions, there is only one correct answer. 

(Yes, sir. No sir.) 

A little understanding, but well, hoping for the best. 

 Lying is big, no doubt. 

Temper flares no doubt. 

But nonetheless, anger and murder,Is that not clear? 

Being justified is a thin line. 

A very thin line. 

 People have many varied views, 

Or interpretations. 

But then again *shrugs*

Responsibilities are many, that's the conclusion that the pen came to as he contemplated life, as best as he could in the crowded pencil box.

The stationeries that were his "roommates" came and go as often as he required a refill of ink, all save the green pencil.

Sometimes, he wondered if there were much more to all that he was doing everyday, just scrawling out words under the guidance of The Hand and being shoved back into the pencil box when he was done.

He longed for adventure, especially the type that  The Hand seemed so fond of writing. Adventures full of battle and bravery, romance and subterfuge, high fantasies of imaginary lands. But what's a pen to do if he is just a pen anyway? What does he know of these stories written out on paper.

As subtle as it is, he sees a pattern in the stories. All of them depict heroes that are larger than life. The Hand may be the one that controls him, but even he can see that The Hand's life is barely in his own control. He sees the many responsibilities that the hand has to face, the things he has to do and he realises that only when The Hand is holding the pen, with the paper underneath him, is The Hand in control of his life.

Until he realises that it is not control either. It is an addiction, broadly speaking, bringing him away from the realities of the world, because amidst the noise that The Hand faces in his life, the need for silence of any form is desperately needed.

So that when curses are thrown about in the house, he can pretend that it just flies above his head instead of acknowledging the stinging pain it brings.