Floating Words, Floating Rhymes

FRUSTRATED WRITER

Note: Read at your own risk. I must say I'm not too good in grammar but hey I'm just practicing. Lol.

The deafening silence of the night awakens her sleeping soul, heart and mind. She jump out of bed and sit. Staring blankly between the horrible details of her piece written with no correct syntax. Little by little she make moves out of her challenging hands. She open her eyes, hold the pen and starts to bleed the bloody ink of regrets, hatred, depression and anxiety.

With the moonlight crossing over the window pane of her small dark solitary room, her shadow forecasts the unbelievable human being with a burden in her heart as she continuously sharpens her pen and invade the space of the paper through the floating ideas playing inside her wild imagination. Ideas that feels like tingling on her head and gives her a chill, a motivation to go on.

As she writes, every letters of the words bow. As she deepens her ballpoint on the bond, every phrases groan in pain. Every sentence cries, every paragraph dies. But as soon as she reach in the middle of her piece, she almost stops. Her shakening hands temporarily get frost holding the pen, with a hesitation if she will ever continue to write.

Breathing a deep sigh, she looks up to the moon glowing outside her tainted window pane. The twinkling stars watching over her while she casts the rebellious ink of pain flowing out of her heart.

Now, here comes the sound of those rushing tears, dropping one by one on the midst of her paper until it becomes wet. Until it becomes nothing but an ordinary paper with full of rants in it.

She eventually drop her pen and with a sudden blast, she torn out the page. She couldn't see anything as the tears of loneliness dashing through her eyes as if they're really accompanied by the agony moments of the night. She crumpled, she torned out, she keeps on chasing the poor little page. She couldn't hear anything but only she could hear is the red pumping monster inside her rib and wanna go out on its cage.

The wicked night have got her bad as she allows herself eaten by the monsters of frustration to the point she couldn't write any single word at all that can wake up her dying worth.

The moon from above was the witness how the legendary writer struggled with her pen and paper just to make a legendary piece. The stars of the night witnessed how wicked the words are, how the devious laugh of anxiety ruin her mind to the point she couldn't hold her pen anymore.

She's now drowning with her own tears flooding on the four corners of her bedroom shed with loneliness. The ink of her pen is already gone. The paper has already been crumpled into none.

The paranoia of being ignored and rejected. The fear of being compared turned out to be one of her markable hatred.

Her heart's just got broken into a tiny million pieces and can't fix at all. She could not turn her feelings anymore into a tale. She could not see her face glowing yet, she's here now...looking pale.

As the bright morning of hopes and motivation approach, the silent bedroom of the frustrated writer mourn. Mourn and silently weeping seeing her dead, pale and anxious body shed with blood. Blood with the ink of depression. Her pen weeps saying "Don't let go." Her crumpled paper shouts "Please come back."

But nothing's left except the mournful numbers of luck. The frustrated writer falls asleep and will never comeback. For her, suicide can make everthing clear and escape the world with ease. Leaving those regrets, unwritten details in her left-over piece. Through her dying skills in making a story lines, her own story will make everyone cry for remembering her soft heart and mind.

@DstlssWrtr
Again I'm sorry for letting your nose bleed. I don't have tissue! So please stop judging me! Lols.

***