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.