Words

a black journal and pen of fresh ink
clasped tightly in my hand and entwined into my fingers
sitting in the sand with heavy eyes under a moonlit sky
crickets chirp yet an ear-ripping silence sounds

i am alone
and my thoughts are my only friend
and so i write meticulously
every day, every night

poems and haikus and sonnets and ramblings
my scribbles of a handwriting can be described as
some odd form of disporportionate cursive
the pressure of my pen sinks into the other pages

my life is etched into 400 pages of a yellowing paper
and although the struggle to survive is inspiring
it is difficult to find the correct words to string together
and write into a journal that represents
my last connection to mankind
and my last escape from reality