After wasting time,
and procrastinating like a pro,
I sat down at 9:30 on a Monday night
(we had the day off)
to start my homework.
It's not that much,
should take me less than a hour--
so I needed a pen,
and I grabbed the only one I had on my chest,
next to my bed,
Black Paper Mate flair pen,
medium.
But as soon as I put that pen to paper,
things started flooding back--
memories,
and things I've tried to lock away.
But this pen opened the safe,
and I was powerless to stop it.
I don't want to think about you anymore.
I don't want to remember you anymore.
I don't want to think about all the words I wrote with this pen--
I DON'T WANT TO THINK.
But I can't stop remembering,
all those words I wrote every night when you were 5 steps down the hall,
when I saw you every morning for 12 days,
and spent every hour with you.
But I especially don't want to remember the day when I tried to write,
but all I could do was try to hold onto the pieces of my heart as everything fell apart.
No,
I didn't write any stories that day,
any poems.
I wrote the 8 lines to my last song,
played it until my fingers were ready to bleed,
and then set my pen down--
for a really long time,
and depression came to collect me.
And now I've picked it up again,
to do my AP Human Geography homework.
But this pen--
it's so much more than that.
But I really wish it wasn't.
