Is my creativity forced?

Do I drive daggers into my skull,
letting the discharge
run down my limbs
and onto a page.

Or is this fantasy?

No reason to quit
No reason to go on.

Except,
Accept.

The Lost Chance Girl
returns from higher altitudes.

I have slipped on her icy passes
in the night
I often sit in lover-wonder,
ever,
to her many voices,
I am vigilant.

When our lips touched
what needles must have been hidden?

tipped with poisonous promise
they left me choking
on the words unsaid.