I wish I had the words
To perfectly describe
Everything in my life

I feel so full of letters
Of words with no real phrases
That don't seem to come together
Or form a clear idea properly

I wish I had the words

In search of a buzz,
I emptied my guts.
Why do I do this?
I must have gone nuts.

There are too many things in the world
Too many objects
Too many people
Too many places
Too many sounds
Too many smells
Too many words
Too many letters
Too many feelings
Too many lies
Too many books
Too many countries
Too many faces
Too many sites to see
Too many tourists
Too many dishes
Too many personalities
Too many hairstyles
Too many theories
Too many stars
Too many films
Too many chairs
Too many trees
Too many computers

It's truly a shame.
There's too many things in the world;
I could never experience them all.

I'm pretty sure there's something there
Behind my eyes
Or under my skin.

Something is waiting to be set free
Something willing to **** to get out

Perhaps there's a bug
Or a sickness
Or something else..

Maybe it's adoration
Or weird love or friendship
Or other corny stuff..

I just think I'm too sentimental
And need to let go

I feel their screams..
first just one
then a dozen
then hundreds:
the miniscule stab mouths
drowning in darkness.
they're scraped across,
almost saving them,
but the dark pools remain
filling the scream mouths

for eternity,
leaving art
unless the mouths fester
or rot away completely

I haven't written in ages;
Now words flow through my hands.
The river falls on its own
Over the cliffs of satiation.

The dam has broken..
Like a failing wall, once towering,
Now toppled,
The once still water cascades freely,
Filling my mind.
Running through my arms.
Spewing out my fingertips
Unaided by mental power.
The works I've not posted until now
Have been waiting anxiously
For this moment.

I can't stop writing.
Phrases leave my mouth
Already poetic.
Already emotive
Already grasping
For a chance at publicity

No longer pleased by quiet passing,
I write and fill notebooks.
Every scrap of paper is coated,
Bleeding black ink,
Gasping for a chance
To be seen
Before it's crumpled and thrown on the floor,
Gathered with discarded others near the bin