I insist,
I write best
when my heart's broken
and I'm sitting here
on my throne
contemplating
my next move.

The first time was tough,
quite experimental,
I sat & I wondered,
could I actually go through with it,
take them all by surprise,
spray them with crafted-word,
drive verses deep into their hearts
& wear my emotions on my sleeves,
then go back into hiding?
Could I lie unknown,
in the same universe as you,
with my thoughts still racing,
until the next outburst?

But the need and the need and the need,
this incessant craving to be read,
to scribe more and more and more,
to get these sacred demons out,
to release my tormented soul,
to ******* my mind
into tiny bit and pieces,
to feel the rush,
of this euphoria,
I must!

O my unforgotten memories,
do you feel them,
do you feel me,
my eyes are rolling back in my head,
thinking of this crazy love.

On and on and on they go,
my mirror images of you
& one is never enough.

Unless I stop
soon,
I insist
poetry will be
the death of me.

But O Sweet Darling,
my pretty jubilee,
look,
just look
at that wonderful
moon.

I'm sick,
I'm dying
here
with glee.

See me...
read me...

quick.