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Beneath the broken window,

Besides her bed, she sits.

She sits in awe in amazement,

How has it all evolved,

Man, animal, nature, lava,

dust, rock, ice.

It comes to her,

It comes to her to pen it down

But words fail her, so she sits.

Pen in hand, and thoughts in her head,

What should it be about,

Topics of the existential?

Or the waters running deep.

Typewriters or ages ago,

Or the tappiing on the computer.

Whatever comes to mind makes no sense.

She knows it all, seen it all.

Has to write, she knows she has to.

What is the real question?

Is there a quesions?

Or wafer thin thoughts of nothing?

There must be an answer.

There must be a solution.

And then she sees it,

The balde beside her,

Seems her friend.

So she she starts to carve,

A slice first, warm oozes of red.

And then another, it felt good.

There were answers no more.