Pen pathogen

I may be writing this anywhere
from the next seat on the plane
the crowded theater's back row
the middle of the mall's food court

wouldn't matter the locale
the second pew over at church
the penny slots at the casino
any little place will do nicely

and the more I write the better
you could say for the circulation
as the heart drums its little beat
to pump those juices through

the shining ink slithers out
a river of blood on faded flesh
the ink of ages with its fateful kiss
to adulterate fear with the eventual

yet people seem more frightened
from the sounding sneezing achoo
little did they know it's more subtle
in the whispering scratches of a pen

oh but why, but why is the cry
why anyone would write this end
the destruction of all those lives
for the silence of all those cries

for the muzzling of machines
the snuffing out of intrusive lights
the break down of booming bombs
the relinquish of anger and of hate

also what better venue than this
than the written word of mankind
dictating and torturing through time
and now the obol for the lips

let this be our suicide note
as we've written it again and again
while this pen bleeds for us
it exhales our demising pathogen