My thumb impatiently presses
the nub at the end of my pen,
while thoughts ceaselessly stresses
my anxieties. I carry my burden
In my backpack, straining
against the worries that flood so fast,
the tensions that make my blood start raining
down when I think of my past.
Jesus, I wish the good days would last.
My fingertips clank the black keys
of my laptop, aching to find
a single word, perhaps one that frees
me from the rib cage that is still mine.
No matter the horrors I conjure,
I can't find a lick of substance to write.
Of this I wish I wasn't so sure,
but still, against my best efforts I fight.
The flames inside my skull still ignite.
The heels of my boots smack
against the asphalt while the moon
above my head shines through a crack
in the clouds. It's all too soon
That the ache in my veins
leads me back to the fun
of crawling to bed, where darkness reigns
and all good feelings get shunned.
I think this time I'm finally done.