Curse the paper and pen.

Why I don't believe in writer's block.

That moment:

I had too many
thoughts
in my head.

I wanted to cry.

I wanted to smile -


all in the same breath,

They were beautiful -
these thoughts -
but they wouldn’t leave
me alone.

They were worth something -
these ideas -
but they wouldn't leave
me.

Alone.





They were trapped inside
My cluttered mind.

They hated my paper and pen.





That moment
I lifted my paper and pen
Allowing flames to engulf them,
every fiber and thread,

I did not care.

I didn't need it anymore:
This medium.
I did not want it anymore:
This vehicle.

Because I still had it all:

all of those words.

And out from my veins they bled.



I sometimes think,
that in a past life,
I must have been a liar.

Now I know,
I’m just a zipper-mouthed kid
With a gnawing will to conspire.





Despite a mind made of lead,
I still have it all -

Thanks to my messed up head.

I still have it all.
I still have it all.


But it forever remains unsaid.