I write when I feel numb,
when to my mind I succumb,
when I wish for a magic spark,
or just a lantern to light the dark.

I write because my silence speaks,
from my brain, phrases leak.
No shape or dimensions needed,
just a soul finding meaning.

My mind has no sides,
no up or down, no left or right.
It offers no strong emotion,
no sense of relief or renewal.

It weighs too much from time to time,
making me cross the line.
To stop the needle from digging deep,
I pick my pen and let it bleed.

On dead trees, my lungs find breath again,
As I unravel a swirl of thoughts compressed,
hoping to sort the tangled thread,
I write what the silence left unsaid.