In Red

Words flow on my paper with out even a second thought, after every little thing that makes me happy sad or mad with any expression the ink waits patiently to come out. But when my paper and the ball of the pen collide there are no more words to be said but rather written and it’s a way for anything on my mind to get out without grinding, scratching or seeing any blood. Or even having the slightest urge to kill flip out or go crazy and insane. I just don’t know on whom to place all the blame. But my pen doesn’t write without a question, about all the good times hard times when I’m stressing. So now my thoughts come out in red, and leave until more things fill my head.