what is it that I keep fighting
my head up against this wall.
what answers do I keep wishing
would grace my aching mind.
what words do I need to hear
that will release this wicked hold.
that confusion has laid upon me
that has pinned me to the floor.
why
am I walking around in this fog
dizzy
from lack of sleep.
lying
awake and writing stories
on
my ceiling in the dark.
if
you could see the blank page
as
I see it from inside these eyes.
you
would see the potential of lifetimes
that
will never have the chance to live.
word
after word and line after line
are
running from end to end.
the
blank spaces becoming smaller
no
more room for any of this.
words
are chasing me like an addiction
and
producing a reaction in me.
a
racing pulse, *a sweating heart*
a
need to somehow be free.
I
feel feverish and shaken
rattled
most days on end.
I’ve
taken to the constant reading of words
to
try find what I cannot say.
it’s
not for lack of fodder
my
god, I’ve an endless supply.
it’s
a lack of getting to the heart
of
what is eating me from the inside.
the
answers I want, quite frankly,
I
know will never come.
I
want you to tell me that what I felt
was
actually something real.
I
want you to tell me it mattered
to
someone more than just me.
but
so clearly and so sadly spun
that
story will never be told.
*thanks to Jenn Whetton for this line*
"writing stories on my ceiling" - that's perfect, Andrea. How often I have done the same.
ReplyDeleteIf you have a typo, do you have to climb a latter and paint the cieling?
ReplyDeleteJust kidding. I echo Talon's comment.