I murdered myself today; these words are just blood stains.
Lying wasted in a pool of creative spill, books strewn everywhere, her head dizzy with all the noises rummaging inside; words, prose, imagery, metaphors all bouncing off each other, creating a static clutter. She felt nauseous with each creative swirl inside 'I have to let it go' she shouted, feeling helpless and incapacitated to move.
The energy draining her out, she grabbed a pen and paper, wrote in a frenzy, her hair disheveled, eyes bulging out, her breathing shallow, sweat all over her exhausted face, she wrote it all, till the last drop and passed out with a crooked smile upon her face; words forming a tiara on her head. She looked ethereal, somewhere between life and death, the moonlight spotted her words which read ‘I murdered myself today, these words are just blood stains’.
