This is probably the most frustrating feeling I've known,
Because writing just lets everything go.
Looks like there's too much going on at once to even think clearly anymore.
All i want to do is let it all go,
And I know there's another way,
But my mind keeps telling me no.
Even as my hands yearn for the cold plastic of the handle of that knife,
A thought comes through:
Have I traded my ability for some sick craving,
Both have the same results anyways,
So why not?
*****.