My pen bleeds black seeping life onto page. I bring it closer to death with every touch. I watch the dichotomy, my thoughts becoming clearer and its life spilling on to page. It will not die in vain, with its blood I will bring meaning. In honor of my pen I will become the vigilante, with its blood I will poison the corrupted. I will stain the pristine landscapes of the New Republic. Line after line I watch black seep out of its jugular. A slow but meaningful death, it sacrifices every drop to help me articulate thought. The page is the vampire, sucking life out of pen at the slightest touch, I watch the sacrifice. The balance is sublime, it is the divine order of things. I cannot stop. I’ve heard that it is “mightier than the sword” but there are no defenses, it follows my every command. This deepens the importance of words hitting page, as it has now become the shrine. I bring pen after pen after pen after pen, with hopes that it brings me closer to the truth.