Thinking in Room 1011

Thinking in Room 1011

Here I sit,

Clicking my ever-ready pen,

My fingers burning,

With the sensation to,

Write,

To breathe,

To take it all in,

And slam it down on paper.

Sitting here I realize,

I am addicted to,

The ink,

The high that is life,

And the low that is death.

Though I still sit here,

I know that I will,

Think,

Dream,

Live.

But it isn't enough.

For I know that I will…

Die.

Yet…

The words will not.

And I am grateful for that.