This Pen


The dark, cool liquid pours out from the pen, again and again…it reminds me of when- I was younger and obsessed, so easily professed, like a badge or a crest, I wore it on my vest, piercing my chest, no way to stop it…unless…another came along. This was a song, a beautiful harmony of fairness and  loveliness, a melody of artfulness, whisper of breathlessness. This pen, it flows…and it’s clear that it knows, the detail of the art, the beat from the start, the pain that is so often completely apart, of the glorious outpour, the tales of the heart.

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