Deep within the dense forest
Of your mind
Lies a treasure chest
That lies collecting dust,
A pity for such a valuable thing--
Maybe its time to open it?

Before me is a blank page
Awaiting to be filled
And so I will sit here and spill
The words from the tattered heart within my ribcage
Struggling to find the correct diction
To bring light to my position
The ever roaring chaos within my mind
Clouds the creative process from time to time
But at times that roar
Becomes a whisper and rolls down my spinal chord
Through tissues and blood into my chest
And then I am allowed to express
These wild, demented feelings and thoughts
In the form of letters strewn together
Lines and swirls and dots
Forming the characters
Before me on this once blank page
Which has now become a stage
To present the troublesome strain
That life places on my brain
Dramatic and tragic
But isn’t that what poetry usually consists of?
Pain and angst and emotional stuff
I tend to ramble too much in my writings
Or not say enough
Because either I think of too little
Or can never shut up

My imagination feels
stifled,
and offers me
neither plot
nor character
from
which
to
b
u
i
l
d
a new
story.
No creative scenarios
or
lines of witty dialogue
pop
into my head.

But
this is my own doing;
this
is what I
requested-
begged for,
even-
without
realizing
the
consequences.

Regret pools in me,
but
I know of
no
way
to reverse it.
I'm sorry
that I shut
my imagination
up,
but it
wouldn't
shut up
about
you.

If only I got the chance
Just to tell you everything in a single glance
I would probably be feeling and making sense
Talking and having all out this hidden chaos inside my chest

If I could just hold back what I feel,
I'll never be living this difficult and painful, my dear.
It'll not be this miserable and filled with fear
From this unbearable dilemma that caused me a million tear

If I didn't fall in love with you,
I possibly not have what I've been going through
*I may be a fool with nothing to gain
but surely there's no more efforts, no more pain.

To the forgotten poems!
Dead for all not to see,
Unless your heart's romantic,
In which case they are free,

Roam my mind you unchained moments!
And flee my capture you Germans from Romans!

To the hunt! The contest! The chase we all endure!
For every one I’m able to express, may one hundred elude me!

Firecracker
Viceral matter
                    Ready to detonate
                    Just wait                      
                                               In a split
                    Profound emotion will transmit

Firecracker
Viceral matter
        Bang bang BANG
                      
                    Where the **** is the bang?


Waiting to be lit
Cold firework will be omit.

i hate to dull you with drugs.
to deaden your vibrant colours is to
desecrate a sacred temple to the prophets of madness.
the lead prophet beats a drum in my temples,
calls me to him with elaborate poetry
that spills from my head through my
veins to my fingers -
my elegy to you will never be allowed
to be said aloud.

serotonin
hurts
my
head
and
inextricably
more
so
my
heart­.

drugs can't help me.
they never have.
creativity is king.
medicine is usurper.
i will have to fight it
off.