The blank page on my desk is staring at me.
With a pen in my hands, I stare back with a smirk and a smile.

Thoughts cross my mind, letters try to come together to forms words of pride.
I stop fiddling with my pen, and bring my hand down ready to strike this enemy in white.

The shining golden edge of tip of my pen, hovers, ready to strike.
My hands tremble as I make my descent to stake claim over yet another empire.

Love. Hate. Pain. Joy. Sorrows. War. Peace.
Words, words and more words. Only words. No sentences. No lines. No quotes.

I scream in anguish. I tap my pen on the old hollowed desk. Louder. Faster.
My golden sword breaks, and I fling the pen in horror.
It cracks further before coming to rest with a thousand other friends.

My trembling only stops after my tears have drowned this eternal enemy.
I grab it with in hands, enjoying its silent, slow, death.
I shriek in laughter as I toss its pieces in the air, and watch it fall down to my feet.

My nervous laughter stops, as I cast my eyes around the once bright room.
The enemy has grown very strong. Its numbers every increasing.
I am surrounded. I am trapped.

These white demons have engulfed me in an infinite blackness.
This will be my death. And they will be my shard.
The pure, silken white to wrap my corpse.

I do not have any great lines to leave behind.
But then what do I say that has not already been said better?
What do I write. that has not been written about before?
This would be my legacy.