Why do you give up so easily on your window to the world? Allowing your writing hand to drag until your knuckles begin to bleed from the want. From the need to be heard by someone in the night, even if that someone is never known by this one. Would I quiet my voice before I learned to talk. Laying in my bed before waking deeds have been done. Surely I would stay awake humming the sound of my heart. The rattle of a keyboard in my head keeping my eyes from ever closing. Could I torture my soul forever with an unfinished sentence? Never… break my writing hand first.