write for me
you insist, forcing sparking needles
between the folds of my grey gum brain
and i try because i’ve seen sunlight
and shocking green trees in a paradise city
so writing should come easily
write for me
because we’re caught in an infinity
of ill health and lead heads
and everyone praises the power
of the written word
before they’ve even read it
write for me
like you have ideas balled up in your fists
but refuse to let them out
like it’s your fault we’re stuck like this
on the outside of a drowning horizon
like with one more word
i’ll finally break free
write for me
so i try again.

I’ve hit a barrier
Between good a mediocre
A matter of writing well
And being able to produce

I know it should come from the heart
But call it heart burn
Because I’m burnt out
And can’t say the words I need

You’re rubber I’m night
My words bounce and hide away in the dark
Coming from the shadows
Snaring me like a hunter

And while I’m pulled as a bird from the sky
My doubts flood me
And I just have to ask myself
Is this the life I wanted?

The blinking cursor
forever fading in and out,
mocking me
for my inability to create.
The words don't come
as they once did.
Blink. Blink.
It's daring me not
to stop typing,
so I don't.
Words flow.
Ideas flow.

Who can tell if any of it
is any good anymore?

finally I can write again
I let the words flow
even though the sentences don't
make sense and the quality is low.
The poems might be
not so perfect,
lovesick & over-dramatic
but I started writing again
and I'm proud.

I have lost my thoughts
lady muse has disappeared
and now I am lost

Both he and I know that I am living in that camera of his.  Sweet girl, trapped, knowing nothing but laughter and million-watt smiles.

I don't know if he will ever develop the film.

Those were some of my brightest days, no matter how flimsy the flame was. Late nights filled with friends and stars and empty baseball fields.

I refuse to forget her. Sweet girl who tried her hardest, supplicated herself to his every mood, broke her bones to make him laugh. Because those photos are the proof that I meant something to him once. That he was just as much a part of the memories as I was.

Even though we're strangers now, maybe you even loved me once, when I was sepia.

So, cut me out if you will.
Cut me out of your film, I do not much mind.

ships wrecked
concepts
disregardable formats and homeostasis
point to where your love lies.
don't tell me i cannot,
i only desire more to crush your expectations beneath the weight of my tap tap tapping keys.
don't tell me i should not,
i will go through my life in silence listening to your meaningless vowels, expressed only in an attempt to stop your head from aching.
hour nine of discontentment:
would you trade your inspiration for a grin?
what do you think of the gasoline and writers block taking form in my dispose?
correct me if i'm wrong but i think i love you.