"To write", she wrote.
She needed it more than ever;
The letters ordered on paper,
Falling neatly in a way that
Expelled and deciphered it all at once.
She longed for the **clarity;
For the void that would materialise
Once the mind was cleansed.
She struggled to grip
even a syllable of substance,
to fling down in a hail of ink.
There weren't words.
None.
No line of text alone could capture
this bombardment of her senses.
Only an act would suffice.
Yet, here and now,
She is without a stage.