Obession
Location
The piece of paper lays crinkled in my stained hands.
There is a blister between my thumb and forefinger.
It reminds me of strength and power, and that is why I am glad to see it.
I set the paper back down on the desk.
And I write some more.
The pen shifts between my hands, rubbing against all the sore spots.
The pain fuels me, makes me move faster.
I must finish.
Must finish.
Must finish.
To be finished. What a lovely thought.
When I am finished, I write another one.
The ideas flow to my head before I can comprehend them.
I must finish.
It must be perfect.
I must never stop.
My hands ache and tears form in my eyes.
Tears of exasperation, of frustration, but never of pain.
I don't acknowledge the pain.
Pain
Pain
Pain
There is no pain. I keep writing.
The blood throbs in my hand.
Stronger now.
I keep writing.
There is no pain.
A single drop of blood begins to form in the center of my blister.
There is no pain.
No pain
No pain
No pain
I keep writing.
I must never stop.
There is no pain.
A pool of red forms below my hands.
The paper is stained.
I grab a new sheet.
The pencil shifts and scratches me.
There is no pain.
The paper is stained. The blood is flowing freely.
I do not acknowledge it because
There is no pain.