I accidentally skipped 2 pages -
I have to go back,
a clean mess,
unabided,
I write something
and try to hide it.

Is it better if I rhyme it?

Well, I can't help myself,
it's like spotting patterns
in the stars,
once you've seen it,
there they are,
the beauty spots and scars.

A cliffside, strewn with wrecked cars.

But up it climbs,
smashing rhymes,
rattling the bars
of my cage
as I step out on to the stage
of the blank page

Avoiding the trap doors

It's filled with an opportunity
though, sometimes,
a sense of dread.
It can be a clear window,
dreaming futures, summoning
the dead

Bars become lines on the page instead

I use what imprisons me
to set me free;
locked in a lexicon,
I can breathe,
the blank page
is a forest of falling leaves

Where I can hear the echos of my screams.

So don't waste it.