the thought of never writing again has crossed my mind. why bother putting down on paper feelings i wish to forget. sensations i would prefer never reviving. i often strangle the ink out of my pens. rip the feathers out of my quills. as if their destruction would be enough to set me free from this burden. then the agony of asphyxiation pulls the breath out of my lungs. throws me naked before a ****** of famine crows.