the plastic ridges that leave
calloused craters in my cramped
digits roll as I contemplate
a next text pregnant with soul
inhibition begins to surrender
to a black blood staining
the once-barren page
becoming a modern-day hieroglyphic
representation of what was once
so far buried
not even a thousand years of
smoke-stained sofas could reach it

ten minutes and twenty lines later
courage and confidence fall
to a deafening jet stream of
"not good enough"
past words from cherished
respects boldly beg to differ

"You are able"
"You must share"
"You must make your art
everywhere"

Feeling brave in my inability to care
I light a cancer stick and stare
stare into nowhere
a nothing of never-ending
proportions
ubiquitous fear dances as
the ringing of Want's doorbell
increases in my ears to
a point of distortion

fingers rest as a moor
begins to pour
sealing sound
grass
light
color
life

a vacuum of all things insignificant
forms as once-blank pages swell,
storms of black-dotted and crossed "me's"
litter the lines
I am grateful for this fatigue
this swollen need
to concede and bleed
myself for a world to
see