I awake to the words before me
like a stale omen.
I sit till my hands numb, my thoughts dry
and eyes blurred.
Is this what has come of the day?
A zig-zag stitch,
an endless mantra of words that I give birth.
Line after line of black upon white,
of emotion upon meaning,
that I rearrange from grieving.

Hello there pages of my work...
the hours of sleep lost.
The minutes of life lost to give you birth.
The stress runs deep upon my brow.
The furrowed **** deep down.
Bury me upon your pages,
cut my wrist with your wisest words.
Let my blood leak
into pools of your work.
Let my heart pour upon the white snow.
All these hours,
page,
and words
I must let go.
For now I have another chance,
another go...