A pen that won’t be stilled.

I have a pen that won't be stilled.

It's neither plastic-made,

nor quilled.

Its form and shape are nebulous.

it has no mouth,

but speaketh. Thus:

"Only one word matters,

one alone:

the word that comes next,

that's the bone.

If the meaning is the heart,

the next word, then

is the farthest grasp

of writing's ken."

I have a pen that won't be stilled,

though with no ink

my pen is filled.

My pen's not for paper. My pen's inside.

Inside what? My self? My mind?

Yes and yes. Brainwaves, ride!

Write from all parts of me,

combined.