Writing Pain

I could write my pain till it trickled down my wrist. Dropping drops of me onto a page until that page is a part of me… is me. Writing pain for gain, but what do we gain? Promises of sweet release when release just cannot be. Breathing my life onto paper with a steady beating pen, I force my hand to move again. Pushing past the barriers that have become a part of me. I pound my fist till I am done. Sweat release from such sweat pain. What do I gain? What do I gain.



8 thoughts on “Writing Pain

  1. You gain nothing. It is not until another soul reads the words you’ve painfully staked on the paper. Your fountain pen might as well drip blood at this point, you wear a crown of thorns made of self brought insults and critical thoughts you’ve only put on yourself. You can do nothing but talk yourself into perfection and praise your own self esteem to get you through the next minutes, hours, even days. You impatiently wait for ping-backs and links. You listen through your shower, and even through the running water as you brush your teeth for the sweet sound of a chime to let you know someone has commented. You hold your breath, you chest is tight, and you repeatedly ask yourself if you are a failure. And then, just then; it happens.

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