you are a sad pen. i made sure you were properly aligned for at least twenty-four hours—i kissed you, i tugged on you gently, i sat you upright on the table with your brother, i didn’t leave you alone unless you wanted to—yet unfailingly you refuse to spew your ink out. you are a sad pen inasmuch as your hollowed out brother’s blood persists in escaping, streaming out valiantly on the strength of his last breath. soon he will die, but with your transparent mouth and your heart in a drought it is you who has given up. rest assured, i will prepare white flowers for two.