Words

These words
That wrap around me
That try to bind me
Set me free.

These words
That overwhelm me
That seek to drown me
Let me float.

These words
That suffocate me
That asphyxiate me
Help me breathe.

And they are always running
Running through my head
Running from my pen
Sprouting, growing…
Blooming?

So bring me a single
Pink-petaled rose
And let it thrive
In the manure created
From this half-formed idea.

So bring me the scissors
To cut the spider-webbed clutter
Away from my slow sluggish mind,
So that I may do for these words
What they do for me.