Drawing images in my head
That stub my pinky toe
In a race that will never end
Nor will I ever win
Thoughts are constantly passing by
I can barely keep up
But on rare occasions I do
It’s quite difficult though
I often need to medicate
Just to get my head straight
It’s moiling to complete a thought
And develop a plot
They slip my mind in a short time
Like having one’s a crime
When I expound an idea
I’m in a zone alone
And there’s nothing that distracts me
When they slip my fingers
As though my pen is like popcorn
My brain brews a storm
And I feel I’m the one to scorn
Needless to say, my thoughts
Are bipolar like north and south
And slip through crevices
But the thing that matters the most
My sanity stays sane
And my thoughts never become vein.