A broken nib.

A torn page,

Crushed

And crumpled.

Some ink,

Spilled.

Some blobs

Blotted,

Some streaming freely,

Much like the flowing words.

Beginning in a beautiful cursive,

Transitioning to a staggering end.

Trailing off,

Much like the hand that wrote them,

As deep blue

Mingled with strains of red,

Silently screaming

The End.