Paper and pens.
I sit and write, even draw.. sometimes. I'm at my desk yet again, half a can of pepsi on one side, a huge pile of paper on the other. Honestly, I never thought I'd get this bad! Looking around me now, I realise I never had a chance really..
It starts with a little story, maybe a poem or two, but those little poems and short stories build up over time. Once, this huge pile of paper was just a random sheet or two, but now...
Well, all I know is that I'm hooked. Words are my drugs, my addiction in the day, pictures help me sleep. I go out less and less, live the stories again and again until I've exhausted every word. My hand used to cramp, but not anymore, huh, guess its seen the truth, there's no point anymore. I'm not going to stop.
My world's just a load of words and pictures. It's all just paper and pens.
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