A pen can be quite posinous to the mind, eyes, and ears. Instruments of the pens plot. Not seeing to take in or listening to music to enjoy it. The pen uses everything. Saves nothing. And, oh boy, the times the pens in hand, but the paper is clear for days on end. Its not the pen who feels the pain, but the hand. The hand will put down the pen and take up a drink in hopes of re-picking up the pen. “That’s not right,” the mind will think, “its my hand but really it’s at the pens mercy.” YOU SILLY BITCH the pen scratches on a notepad, aware the mind is reading. The mind scofs at the insult. The pen continues writing. WE CAN WORK TOGETHER, I AM NO ENEMY. Confusion. “Poison or partner?” the mind wonders. BOTH the pen writes.