my shaking hands terribly took the pen between my grinded teeth. arctic fingertips sprayings through my hair with leaves growing down my back, a phrase haunting my sleep for moments before i took out a scrappy book. this time, i was done. how many times i have thought this over, the words that danced over the beat down pages and demons that crawled into my terrors with kicks that laced through my bed at night. inspired by the disappearing stars and anxiety calming skyline; all of it was gone.
and for the last time my shaking hands terribly took out the pen from my grinded teeth and wrote down the hell-sent words.
i'm out of ideas.