Sometimes I hunt my pages
Curving lines and doting “I’s”
Flipping through the many judgements
Expressing thoughts and captured moments
Without thinking or focus
Making sense or writing jargons
I could hear its voice echo
Screaming and yelling as I push and pull
Converging clouds in my head into units
Conversing mute between my thoughts and paper
The tip of my pen continuously tugs
Turning lines into letters, into words, into sentences
Penning down my chaos
Pen nib-drilling ink like blood
Words stringing together with a force of flood
Sometimes, just sometimes I hunt my pages.
