I’m on the ledge of my life, as once I’ve decided to end my lurid labyrinths that lacerated a many. I drank a coffee and concluded, so took a machete in my hand walked my foot towards the tower-end, I squeezed my neck with the machete and tended to jump off the tower before i slipped, and my entire macrocosm went dark.
Suddenly I woke up from last night’s sleep and recovered from the dark-dreams but still am In a maelstrom. These hurdles kept me maimed from writing for almost a month. Manifold thoughts all over my mind.
But as a manna from heaven appeared a pen, the magical blade to scrape my fate. Suddenly manumitted all my confusions that were within my head, and sorrows end, as once I picked up the magical pen that continued to glitter even after reaching my hands, and I managed to pick a piece of paper lying next room and ran to reach a mere near my place.
Placing the pen on paper, wondered what to write. My thoughts wandered all around the scenery to find the best topic and finally found my own story to carve in the pages of ranging history. I wrote, I kept writing and continued to write until my hands bled and my eyes shed. Sleepless nights and inactive days couldn’t stop me from writing, I wrote the story all along my birth and continued to write to my breaths’ last. I wasn’t dread of dying, as I decided to drown all my dree away. As they say “one dree their own weird.”
It was from then I became a wordsworth, being able to write was needful. The pen was a boon that orotunded all that I wrote into great sculptures. Not just to credit my pen, but all I can say is ‘I owe you my dear pen’.
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