Writing helps to get it all out.
Pain, frustration, anger, abandonment...

All of it.

I like to write often.
It's why I have a collection of pens
on my bedside table.

Sometimes, I write so much
The ink drips from the pen to the floor.
At least it seeps into the carpet fibers
so no one is able to read it.

I suppose writing has become my addiction.

There are nights where I write a lot,
especially when it gets late
and I'm certain no one is around
to hear my feverish scribbling.

The ink starts to spot my sheets then.

But I can't stop myself.

I'll inhale,
Count to ten.
Exhale.
Pick up the pen.

It's fine.

Why does it matter if I write another line?