Bodily desires.

My hands manufactured a desire to write as to inscribe the language in which my body scrivened into the winds as it was no longer capable of restraining every formation of conviction, silent reverie entangled within, my lesions and wounds throbbing, vividly picking at the edges of my sanity, squeezing out every snivelling wailing howl that lingered, sense of self battered, empty eyes with no reserve to call upon, soul shattered, and the hunger to pen on paper longed in demand to pour myself a-drench into a blank canvass.