I don’t remember how it went anymore
I was too caught up in the emotions to notice when it fell apart
It wasn’t until there was thread spilling over my hands and onto my feet that i realized that none of it was keeping us together anymore
mmmmm how sad all I remember are things going really well and things going really badly.... where was the in between?
Where does the desire come from?
To send someone words on a paper screen?
Where does the inkwell saturate, and settle deep?
Mixing until you’re your dammed up thoughts
Break loose and spill out onto the ground
Flooding the valley at hand below
For when you spill yourself onto a page
You need to be comfortable with the mess you’ll create
But why should you worry about that anyway?*
I mean it, I say this with a laugh but…
Does any of this matter anyway?
Why should you withhold and hold back?
The rushing words
The kind which actually meant to be swept away
How to write with Sean - You just write until you are. And then one day you realize that you've always been to a certain degree. And forever will be. You! (:
There is an ache in my hands
an itch in my brain
the fluid is flowing
round and round
faster and faster to a sudden stop
and it all come slipping and crashing out of the sides
a mess everywhere
nobody is here to clean it up or pick up the pieces
simple random thoughts coming to my mind spontaneously some how to try and make this poem make sense... it doesn't
— The End —