virginia filled her pockets with rocks
and walked into a river
sylvia taped her doors shut
and crawled inside her oven
anne took a swig
and started her car to nowhere
ernest, like his fathers before him
an old fashion shotgun to the head
them and us and i
we were given too many thoughts to manage
and we failed to keep the dam up
to keep out all of those endless loops of words that
just kept flowing,
kept us reminiscing of a deeper emptiness that could never be articulated
the world of writing was never meant for the faint of heart
but so often madness has met creativity
and became the most arduous of lovers