Paragraph after paragraph fills the page. I chase these paragraphs, looking for the keys to the locks of the chains piercing through the shatters of my soul. I find miniscule solaces in these paragraphs; one would hardly know they're there. Peace seems to be smaller than my heart's tiniest fragment.
As if agony is my fuel, I sift through my paragraphs, unable to run or stop. I watch helplessly as my pen paints paragraphs; more paragraphs than I can ever analyze or scour. My chains will never be undone. I will never escape this gilded "gift" that has dubbed himself "Life". Father time is just like all of the other liars; he takes under the guise of freely giving.
Neither Life nor Time is stopping these paragraphs in their flight from my fingertips. The ink passes in blurs and I'm wrapped in a purgatory of empty, yet over-flowing, words. They hold empty promises of forevers. They hold the ashes of my aspirations and of my dreams. They hold memories, ever-fading memories of good and evil. All of these beautifully terrible words form damned, ever damned, paragraphs.
Sentences form chains. Periods build walls. Exclamation points become bars. Question marks, the few question marks, flow into the windows and they shift into my eyes. The green of my eyes drip into tears the longer I look into the mirror and see a face that just isn't like hers. These green orbs of mine feign joy as I paint a smile on cracked and pale lips. Only now do I realize that I'm half alive at best. Yet here I am…stupidly, endlessly, chasing paragraphs while life nonchalantly passes me by.