Why do I try
why do I write
why do I keep
trying to thrive
it just feels so wrong
it never pans out
I’m sinking lower
deep into doubt
there feels like
there’s nothing
nothing about
why do I bother
why do I shout
nothing really matters
at least not in the end
the books still unwritten
paused in my head
like something will happen
any old day
but then I remember
why I’m waiting again


Blank pages, white screen
I have words I sometimes think
write them down like poetry
write them down consistently
then they stop, stop so suddenly
a blank page sits right in front of me
minutes pass then hours go by
words that dance but never abide
settle or structure or even really stick
words come in floods flashes extreme
but then there is none, no humidity
the well has gone dry, no more bleed
just pages being filled with black space
and tantrums

Withered needs

Too much on my head
I got too much on my brain
it’s all drinking up my soul
zapping energy
can’t think too much about it
can’t write a single verse
got rhymes inside my head space
got monsters to be birthed
but everything is stuck there
a flood with no movement
I can barely breathe here
in the stagnation of the pen
realities have conquered
and sent me right to sleep
but the dreams I have intensive
breaking down my withered needs