oh, the joy of having the ability to spill my never-ending thoughts
is immeasurable!
my mind is a cemetery where the ghosts of each passing moment
rise to haunt me
they spring up out of nowhere,
and the only say that i have in the matter is
when to release them
confusion becomes clarity by my way with words,
gently turning and molding them into phrases
that only i can fully understand
no one can stop me or tell me how and what i should communicate-
a freedom that is comparable only to other forms of artistry
and a feeling of impulse that one should not ignore
if they are lucky enough to receive it