Words

I’ve got words 

oozing out of my ears
Pages of dilapidated fears
And faded daydreams
and muted screams
Scribbled franticly
Each word a broken memory
hammered to the walls of my brain
like old photographs
Frozen faces staring warily
trying to make sense of the insanity
But only finding sadness and anxiety
And more words

My mind is a sheet of musical nonsense
Smudged by black inked fingers
The melody slowly lingers
At the tip of my tongue
Muted by flock of mutated words
Each syllable a beating wing crashing
Like symbols
Words form a beautiful, booming symphony
Drowning the sound of normalcy
Until all that’s left is oddity

My head is a forest of
Imagery and metaphors
And bitter irony
Hyperbole of moons long ago
Words that ebb and flow
Like the tide
As it runs from the storm
Words swim around like sharks
Smelling blood
Eating away at reality
Leaving little slivers of rationality
Twisted up in poetry

These words accumulate
To create my existence
A current of creativity
That spins me constantly
Until my fingertips itch with electricity
A maddening mind
Crumbling at the attempt
To hold all the words in
Always lost in the question:
Why?
But never able to find the answer
As it hides
Behind lost corridors
Full of dusty, forgotten stories

My mind is an open book
Full of blank pages
And crumpled half written sheets
Always left incomplete
Scribbles and doodles
Crowd the corners
Those perfect words always
Just out of reach
Trapped behind book shelves
And old photographs

I dream of days
Where I can tame
The words that keep falling
Cascading like water
calling for the Peace
at the bottom of their journey
They drip from my ears
Forming whispered fears
And silver lined day dreams
And screams of joy
And fits of laughter
They stream from my finger tips
Like a beautiful disaster
Never knowing how to
Push the brakes
Instead just pushing past mistakes
Expecting to clean them up later
Until all that you can see
Is red ink and insecurity.

I tried to temper the absurdity
But that just isn't me
Control comes with a cost
And words are too wild
To be treated like a child
The harder I tried
To control them
The quicker they’d fade
Like a heart betrayed
They ran from my clenched fingers
Control means losing me
To the façade
Of sanity
I’d rather hold on to my creativity.
With lose fingers
and an open mind
In hopes that I find
The answer to that question.