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Dear pen

Dear pen, I look at you, accomplice of my crime. My thoughts flow, dragged on this sheet, now dangerous as blades, now delicate as feathers. I see you, you cry, while you leave my hands dirty. Of my images I see the shapes, transformed into words, sentences. I close my eyes, I let myself be carried away, I draw confused sketches. Oh immense madness, that distracts me from the real world, what would you be with no ink to pour? Dust laying alone in pile, locked up in this tormented mind.