Where does the desire come from?
To send someone words on a paper screen?
Where does the inkwell saturate, and settle deep?
Mixing until you’re your dammed up thoughts
Break loose and spill out onto the ground
Flooding the valley at hand below
For when you spill yourself onto a page
You need to be comfortable with the mess you’ll create
It’s inevitable
But why should you worry about that anyway?*
I mean it, I say this with a laugh but…
Does any of this matter anyway?
Why should you withhold and hold back?
The rushing words
The kind which actually meant to be swept away