I bathe in black liquid, my head was fully soaked
my body was stiff — rigid, as the grip was held tight
the paper, solid white and blank, is now
littered with graffiti of handwriting
strokes, curves, dots – separated by spaces in between
what was thought of is now being written
 
I dive into that ooze of black liquid
as once again, another line, another word
needs to be written
smoothly I glide over the paper
as the writer does his job
writing in solid long-hand — beautifully written
 
I go into that bottle with the black liquid
once, twice…I lost count
yet I can’t complain as
the mark I leave behind, is as beautiful as a summer’s day