I wish there were words
or pictures
or sounds
that could convey how I feel inside
but no matter how much I try
or how many nights I waste
with pen in hand and paper not far
I end in a teary eyed fury
because the creativity that leaks
from the outside world
into my skin
seethes within my bloodstream
and blankets my being
and it gets stuck
and no matter how much I write
or draw
it just seems to multiply
and I sicken with sadness
unable to share what I have within me.
So I smoke
and pop pills
and somehow
it releases this creative pressure
or seems to display it in my feelings
and I am alive again.