Paper

The page was blank
white
empty.
In a way it looked almost dead
lifeless
inanimate.
It worried her
It irritated her
It disturbed her.
White reminded her of hospitals
asylums
clinics.
And so she scribbled,
she drew,
she wrote
Until it was black
ebony
jet.
And it was the essence of malice
sorrow
grief.
She wasn't sure which was better:
emptiness
or distress.