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.