how so other
thinkers do it
night and day
beat themselves
up
for thoughts
left unwritten
forgotten as
the smoke fades
only traces
remain
on an unwashed
shirt
can’t shake the
urge to sit and write
so many
thoughts not knowing
how they got
here
what a journey
until I put them
here
pushing out to
an edge
so sharp make
it mine
over and over
feet might fail
and my mind
unraveled
in front of you
what is the
point
just thoughts
its all I have
screaming and
can’t fit
into the mold
swing and miss
over and over
already having
exposed too much
of who I am
where I haven’t
been
brought me here
always
anywhere better
than
inside the
hollow…
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