Review Summary: on earth, as it is in heaven.
i want you to take out a pen and paper
i want you to take a look at the ink as your broken pen drips onto the paper which you can’t get rid of; there’s no disillusion, you think nothing more of it, even as more and more stain your hands.
i want you to stop.
i want you to go to outside and get in your car.
i want you to drive down the street and notice the streaks of black that eclipse the sidewalk from what it used to be, and how damaged it’s gotten over time.
i want you to think about the ink that’s dripped from those sidewalks, and what it means to you.
i want you to leave your car.
i want you to go into the store.
i want you to notice the pale disconnect of everyone’s faces in the store.
i want you to pick up a pack of pens from the back of the store.
i want you to acknowledge the stares of bystanders as they look at you like you’re some goddamn outcast.
i want you to panic.
i want you to imagine.
i want you to think.
i want you to pick up the pens that you dropped on the floor in fear.
i want you to notice the heaps of ink that are staining the floor.
i want you to go home.
i want you to take your medication.
i want you to throw away the bottle, because there’s nothing left in it for you anyways.
i want you to sit down at you desk.
i want you to look at the ink that stains your broken and calloused hands.
i want you to stare at the bottle on your nightstand.
i want you to think about who you used to be.
i want you to think about the girl.
i want you to think about her eyes and how their jasmine glare used to love you more than anyone else.
i want you to think about what you did and what happened.
i want you to write about it.
i want you to write about the disconnect we all go through on a daily basis.
i want you to write about existence and what it means to you.
i want you to write about the human condition, and how times change as well as our relationships with others form and collapse with time, whether it be within years or within minutes, and how that’s okay; that’s life.
i want you to hear me.
i want you to feel the
slow burn that life is, and how beautiful that can be.
i want you to look at your blood and ink stained hands, and the callouses that have developed along them over time.
i want you to stare at the scars that occupy your arms like the damaged man you are and always will be.
i want you to exist.
i want you to bury your dead dreams, lay them in the grave.
i want you to move on and write about what is now and what it means to be alive.
i want you to just exist.
everything is in your hands.