A bitter taste
The acid in my stomach invading my throat
Mind reeling
I sharply inhale

Sometimes I do not produce beautiful words
Poetry does not rise from every pile of ashes
A blank cursor laughs at me
Tears blur it’s maniacal glance,
And I shut my computer down
I shut down

Sometimes the piles of ash accumulate
My body aches
And I ask myself why
The pleasantries mock me.
Why the remains cannot blow away with the struggling breaths
My lungs push in and out
Why the toxicity
Must burn my skin on contact
My fingertips, cold as they may be
Are on fire.