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.