As much as my destiny commands me to write, there are moments at which, my pen struggles and is at war with the words I weave on pretty empty pages. I fill the pages with words, I empty my soul and stain the pages, and yet, I am here, alone, unfulfilled with my words. My words have emptied us. We are null and void and subtracted by words. All we have been is now undone by a few strokes upon a page. Cigarettes, sushi, black tea with honey, wine, porn star sex, all erased by words negating the existence of us. Once, words were lovely built bridges, eye to eye, sharing pulses and heartbeats, and now, they extinguish the beat.. we have flatlined.. words have killed us, love.