Words,
Thoughts,
Emotions,
And life
Surrounds me in one.
As I begin to write
It all turn into fun, then as I continue,
It starts to turn into violence, and shoot out like a gun.
Everything is so peaceful,
In other people eyes,
But the stream of words,
Titles
And thoughts keep coming in remind,
That I am a poet.
I get the urge to write.
I’m like a crack addict,
Addicted to writing, staying up all night.
Afraid to stop.
Paranoid that the words will
Stay.
Troubled by my thoughts,
As Ink bleed in repay,
Of redemption and
Sequel  settings
The hard times of one’s life is mine,
Which is not forgetting.
I seem crazy and quite threating to others.
I talk to myself,
Just quiet,
Unexplainable mutters.
Poetry took my heart and ran,
Made it paper thin,
And red ink span,
Grey lead as a tan,
Poisoning my heart, and making it into flying paper
Cranes.
In only minutes,
Seconds,
I am done with a poem,
That is ******* with the ends of my storm.
I am the devoted,
Thoughtless,
Emotionless,
Lifeless,
Poet.



-Marci H.