mind aches, hand breaks - 4:39 PM

the more poems i

let flow through

the black-ink pen onto the yellowing

empty pages,

the more i discover is troubling me.

i do this to heal.

i do this so i won't be suffocated

by the words trying to

crawl up my

throat.

i once thought that the oasis

with my soul swirling

in it

would never be

reachable.

but now that i have,

i am gulping down handfuls

like an animal, i am never satisfied.

my greedy mind

wishing to forever feel the high

of writing

the perfect poem.

my hand clenched

around the silver pen

almost moving by itself

feverishly,

until slowly it winds down

burnt out

and the drought returns.

i do this to heal.

but each time i open my mind

and let the words flow freely,

a new problem surfaces

the need to write

a new poem eating you up.

it is a never ending cycle

one that i foolishly let myself fall into.

one that i happily let myself fall into.