Even if I keep silent, hold the beast back, fail to fan the flames, resist change
There is no stopping the pen in my mind from moving across my metaphysical page
I am writing in my mind, even if I attempt to hold my hand still
And forget the feelings and words
That so seem to have me do their will
“Write me”
“Write me”
When you’re not writing, you’re dying.
The words mock me and yet beg me to do them a kindness
“Pour us out for the world to see”
"Let them come to see you’re not mindless "
And some days it is not the words that I have an aversion to, but the truth that they hold
And so I hold onto them, starve them; hope they die out in the cold
Far reaches of my mind, a place I hope I can manage to fail to find
And others I **** them not out of hate
But for the simple thought
That they all seem to echo an ex-lover’s face
For the thought I sometimes in my mind dare to mutter to her
“You do not deserve to be my inspiration”