A million thoughts,
Trapped in a young mind.
Each shaped to slice,
Poison tipped fury,
Enclosed in an idea.

How is one supposed to think
With all these blades locked in his mind?
How is he supposed to sort through them all,
When each he touches slices his flesh,
When the urge to retreat is so heavy within him?

What is one to do?
All  these barbed words,
Bouncing around in a skull.
If only the sound was hollow,
If only his mind less sharp.

They say ignorance is bliss,
And dull thoughts must hurt far less.
Perhaps if he frees them,
Blows a hole in his skull,
Those  thoughts will flow free.

Onto the floor,
His sharp thoughts flow,
Filling the crevices of his floorboards,
Staining the wood with their rich color,
No longer caged.