My hands were trembling while I was trying to write
It wasn't fear, wasn't because of how nervous I was.
As long as I touch that pen my hand keeps shaking, as if there's a soul trapped in it.
Wanting to take over me, it already got the best of my mind.
All my thoughts are black, suicidal.
I want to stub myself with the same pen, nothing else.
It demands my body.
Dead souls can be cruel but they never lie, keep that in your mind.
They tell you the whole truth, I've been seeing " the truth " in my head.
I thought maybe if I wrote a thing or two about it, the soul in my pen could stop looking for me.
The things I've been seeing is driving me insane, but I've never questioned my sanity.
I believe in this truth.
I believe in the once upon a window tale that the pen been trying to tell me.
I sleep every night to dream about the same person, he is a depressed old guy in his 40s, yellow eyes and brown hair.
His hair was always dirty and messy, he had dark circles under his eyes, sitting by the lake playing ducks and drakes.
Watching him every night is doleful.
Although I'm only watching from a distance I can feel his emotions and read his thoughts before they touch his lips.
He was ugly, with a long beard growing in the end of his face which made him more horrible looking.
He gets up and goes to the same museum, walking in his good looking clothes.
All black and nice, he pays before letting people judge him and kick him out.
He looks around for a while then stops at a corner, he start gazing at a painting for three cows staring from a window.
Then after a few minutes he looks at the painting next to it, a girl crossing her legs sitting on a dark sofa with dead flowers in her hand.
For a few minutes he keeps looking, leaving the people wondering if he's alright when he clearly is not.
He suddenly turns around to suprises the few people standing behind him.
He walks straight to the exit, take a single cigarette from his front pocket and a lighter from the same one.
He put it between his lips and light it as his face start to change.
The stubborn straight face changes into a shaken one.
He's clearly holding his tears back as he walks straight to where his feet ae take him, feeling numb.
The feeling was so real, I felt it so hard and it feels so familiar.
Feeling numb is just knowing you'll feel the pain later.
It hurts, I felt sorry for him for a while before I realized he is a monster.
After he finishes his cigarette he start crying as I could feel his heart smashing against the logic's wall.
