Death

I am alive.

I feel my pulse shatter my chest and my lungs beat

even when I tell them to stop moving.

I scream for the blood in my veins to exit.

I beg for death.

But I am alive.

Just like writing.

The day writing dies so will I

and I will embrace the Grim Reaper with open arms.

For a world without writing is a world without hope.

Hope has been around this long, ever since Pandora's box,

I don't think it will leave now.

As long as I keep churning these words, writing will not die.

It may suffer, it may fade.

But I will not let it die.