A collection of words dancing upon the blank canvas of my screen. Mocking me, they sit unaudited, unfiltered, nonsensical strings of words that fit so beautifully, so tempestuous, they sit together.
All the five hundred drafts and counting I am so bad at finishing Each line lyric rhyme Hoping for a masterpiece Or a mirror to my mind Nothing is certain till it ends And it twists all the thought.
A surprise for few lines An emotion to hide Many people to confide Some memories to write A few to ignite Each word to choose and another to bind.
Inert satisfaction a final completion First to last transition Inking blues And curves in precision An unknown outcome Likesome to troublesome to be posted on a wall.
