.
I can feel my grip on the quill
squeezing it out

thick heavy lines
shoved to and fro
splashing words
...splotches of words
...spilt over other words
piling deep

jiggling over miniscule pauses
...dripping
...leaking
then another spew of
blackened spittle
even before the point of it all
trickles into awarness

my twiddled tool
...between bowed calloused fingers
drools anxiously for the next bitter morsel
of grimey burnt ash
to slam down on any empty space
...to endarken all
...as completely as death
before running dry