If I could not write

I would implode.
Like a black hole.
There would be no breath, no blood, no chi
no whatever the fuck you want to call it.
Just stale
Just skin
just shell

If I could not write
I would go insane
Driven mad by the weight of my thoughts
Driven mad by the inability to shed the thoughts of others the day has tattooed on my body.
Everything seeps in
The pen, the keys, the paper, the screen
They seep it out.

Implosion becomes explosion
The word is my salvation from the dark.

If I could not write
I would cease to be
I would be a ghost.
A ghost with red hair, red lips and great shoes
But hollow

Just as I would be if I could not read
For what am I without language?
What are any of us without language?

Nothing.

Ricoeur taught me that.
Heidegger too.

I could lose everything
my health
my love
my daughter
my way

As long as I have my words I will always have something.

My words will always be a trait.
Never an error.

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