By V. Evermore
Bullets bouncing through her head,
ricocheting from side to side,
chaos and madness brewing
with each strike.
But time freezes.
They stop.
And then there’s nothing.
Until it’s all too fast to catch again.
A thousand words screaming,
yet not a single one escapes.
Thoughts collide like shattered glass,
leaving fragments she cannot place.
A universe lives behind her eyes,
with galaxies begging to be written,
but the moment her pen meets paper,
every star goes missing.
She reaches for a sentence,
but it slips between her fingers.
Chases a thought down endless halls,
only to find locked doors and whispers.
The clock ticks louder.
The paper stays bare.
Her mind is a battlefield,
but there’s no enemy there.
Just unfinished stories,
unspoken confessions,
half-written tragedies,
and a thousand unanswered questions.
She can hear the characters crying,
feel their lives beneath her skin.
They beg her to tell their stories,
but she doesn’t know where to begin.
And isn’t it cruel?
To have a mind that never sleeps,
yet hands that cannot capture
the very things it keeps?
One moment, she’s drowning
in an ocean of creation.
The next, she’s stranded
in a desert of hesitation.
Too many beginnings.
Not enough endings.
Too many thoughts.
Not enough understanding.
She writes a word.
Erases two.
Starts a sentence.
Forgets what’s true.
The bullets return,
rattling against her skull,
each one carrying a masterpiece
she’ll never quite pull
from the wreckage of her mind,
from the chaos of her soul,
from the beautiful destruction
of stories left untold.
And perhaps that’s the madness—
not the silence,
not the noise,
but having a thousand voices
and being unable to choose a voice.
So she sits with her pen,
watching midnight become dawn,
mourning all the brilliant words
that arrived and then were gone.
Until one trembling sentence
finally breaks the endless white,
a single spark of something
she thought she’d lost tonight.
And suddenly,
the bullets become letters,
the chaos finds its rhyme,
and every scattered fragment
falls into place for just a time.
But before she can catch the ending,
before the final thought is penned,
the madness turns to silence—
And the blank page wins again.
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