i thought i could write stories
that would make the world embrace me -
that could send the senses soaring
and the mind free-falling down.
i thought i could write stories
of the people who were with me;
of moments of life, enraptured
with the lies behind my tongue.
but the words are melting slowly,
slush trampled into mud,
oozing out by creeping pressure,
taken from my mind.
yes, i thought i could write stories,
but here my stories
end.