The idyllic writing tools in the cardigan of life:
~A monochromatic heart~ Which pumps oxygenated words in the decaying arteries and writes elegies on the pericardium to let some clotting platelets of poetic devices alive.
~A Gothic brain~ Which smokes some grilled thoughts and recites silent monologues to the cranium and squeezes the essence of poetries in the spinal cord which runs through the veins and reaches the lined hands.
~A dead petrichor~ That enchants a poet's ambiguous memories with the vapours of coffee and makes the dusky daisies bloom in the abyss of apostrophes.
~A putrescent ink~ Which is ensorcelled with the melancholic similes of a poet and now smells like the forlorn woods with the trees of metaphors where a poet ends his poems and becomes a soul of the stained barks.
~A paradoxical pen~ That changes emotions of heart with oxymorons of mind and makes the pages suspire in the galaxy of words where the stars make the sun dimmer.
Now, The idyllic writing tools rusts with the coat of time while they are writing amorphous aetias in this utopian world. The tools are rusted enough to powder poems with rhymes making them home for a poet.