why do words exist?
to be scripted, to be read, to be heard

but what is the worth of a book
with no readers
a voice
with no listeners

bottling up inside
these words, these voices
needed somewhere to go

so I write, I write, I write
all my pain, and my pleasure
my past, bruised and battered
my history, my fantasy, all my insights
of how I stay and how I take flight

so I write, I write, I write
nopausesnofullstopsnocommas
the ink rushing, swirling, spurting
like blood flowing through my veins
that still keep me alive

I keep on writing
in hope that one day
my words would be read
by you