your heart
spills out onto paper
through the graphite
that fills your pencil
you're so lost -
lost in the thoughts
that beg you
to be let out;
the thoughts keep coming
at a pace that makes you think
"if i write any faster,
i might break my wrist."
but nonetheless
the words keep coming
-as if you could ever
hope to stop them-
flowing seamlessly
from your head
down to
your hand