I felt like writing something.
I had an idea.
It slipped away.
I had the words,
But they were washed out to sea.
And now I'm here.
Grasping,
Reaching,
Clawing,
At smoke in the air.
I smell the tendrils,
But can't encompass everything.
The smoke envelopes,
Suffocates.
And now I'm drowning in thoughts.
Can't sort.
Can't process.
Too much.
Now the smoke clears,
And so does my head.
The smoke becomes a candle,
Holding all my thoughts,
All my words.
I clutch the candle;
Hold it with all my strength.
It is my sanity.