I sit in an empty room
Pages spread about me
Ink splashed on the walls
Frustration growing, tension growing
But I'm the only one there
Isolation, I talk to the walls
The shadows that lurk in the corners
I hear voices
Who's there?
No one.
Like always.
The ink upon the walls turn red
Blood?
Yes, I can smell it
But where did it come from?
I look down...
My wrist?
Who cut me?
Knife in my other hand.
I did this to myself...
But I didn't feel a thing.
I'm in a corner, staring down at the pages
'NOTHING'
Written in big letters
Written on every single page
They want me to write
They tell me to write.
They gave me a pen,
They gave me paper.
I couldn't write.
I don't feel I can
But I stand anyway.
I walk to the now-clean white walls
Thinking to soil the shiny white prison
With the still wet blood on my fingers
And then...
I write.