a hue of six
What if you had nothing left to say; if all the words escaped you, what would you do? If you were only adept to be mute, and stare… stare deep. If your opinions became veiled with silence; the silence that is a darkness, which transposes its self into every vein of your feeble being? If you are forced into a contention against your very own mind? If the page which you are grasping was incomprehensive because the menagerie of letters and words began to evaporate, crushing every bit of intelligence inside of your carcass? What then?