paroxysmiclove

A writer writes whatever she sees in all forms of notable reality;
Mental and physical alike, both are real mediums
Useful to her skills and her gentle pen scratching on the paper upon the table.
Though this may be written in cybernetic ink, the array of zeroes and ones
are just as clear as her ballpoint or graphite paintbrush,
Both able to paint a picture for all to see.

Many things influence her, in ways none else can;

Pain drives a heavy force through the keys as tears flow from scarred eyes
Water dripping into plastic crevasses, the painting dark and flowing;
hues of dark crimson, orange, silver, black tinged over the edges of the hands
Reaching forth in the paint, grasping for the light that the darkening tints deny them.
Her own palms press to the easel, pen-brush disappearing as she sinks slowly
joining with the lost and afraid.

Fear flows into her next, skin tightening as the muscles tremble
Pupils widening as she gasps for breath as the water flows
Sweeping the traces of paint away to replace it with the tinges of dark blue,
Navy, emerald green, colors unseen by the human eyes before the painting of letters came to be
A silent scream as it grows darker, the others tugging her closer as the sea deepens;
Unable to swim, she sobs in terror, her tears joining the waves as well.

Flash of yellow sunlight at the top of the page,
Wet faces turning up towards the sight that brightens their sights;
his hand placed atop of hers, a surprise that melts the sea away,
pen clattering into the puddle of inky-paint, the easel melting once more;
Her arms wrapping swifly about his shoulders as the shadows lift,
hues of light pastels and gold glimmering on the paper canvas
As the others press forth againt the easel's page.
She smiles, his fingers wiping the ink and tears from her rosy cheeks
Lips pressing to her cheekbones to rid the trails they left behind.
She laughs, his grin growing as her painty, inky palms press to his cheeks,
Blushing lips pressing lightly to each other;
All is right once more.

She closes her eyes and laughs, tilting her head back with a soft laugh,
and she looks back down to look into his ash and sapphire eyes..
And her smile fades as the paper lies upon the table before her,
No trail of painted paper, no sign of the imaginary souls
That held her tight in the ocean of tears that had exised in her dreams..
Closing her eyes, she rests her face in tired hands,
wishing the dream had been real and he'd, in fact, been there.

Sighing gently, she picks up the pen once more, dream fresh
as she presses it to the paper,
painting her picture with words for the others to see.