My notebook weighs heavy
Its pages swell with a senseless world that I must make sense of
I let the pen hit the page so my head doesn’t hit the wall
Ink pours from the tip like a syringe into which I’ve squeezed
Everything
Injects along ruled lines passions, impressions, questions, answers
Releasing a pressure gauge
Words bruising the pages
From deep purples to soft greens to yellows
Until they finally fade
The notebook is the place
The mood altered / the heart healed / the hand to hold
The weight lifted
That image of the syringe squeezing everything into the page is vivid and a bit startling in exactly the right way. The bruising of words from purple to yellow is a lovely progression. The notebook as a pressure gauge is something most writers will recognise.