My head is full of words 
But they cannot pass down  the streams on my face,
to the waterfalls in my neck,
to the steady river in my arms,
and explore the 5 sea-fingers
around the oceans of paper.
To battle the waves of rhythm
and dramatic pauses,
cliche's and stanza's with an ending of finesse.

My head is just a mess;
No real formation ofright nor wrong
of care or apathy,
Days go by where i mix the two like sweet and sour,
The casual joke comforts the bitter gloom.
                                      
My head is full of ****;
Tonnes and tonnes of it,
I cant even begin explain its contents or describe the frustration it brings.
I have no sense of rhyme,
no sense of time,
no sense of form.
My words turn from sadness to glee
in less than six words.
No sense of anything.

My head is an empty pit;
                            

I write more about writing poetry than poetry itself.