The Pain is throbbing too hard for me to feel the joy
That should be coming through my seams.
I've got unborn poems
Waiting in the queue
And no way to get there
And I want to cry
So I know that it's got to be bad.
I cry and whimper as I walk here
The blood is pushing at my skin to escape
My body
Overreacting from something
I can only guess at
So I try to comfort the skin,
My body, like a child that needs
Love and attention
Rather than beating the crap
Out of it,
Like I want to do for
Keeping me from the
Unborn poet children
In the womb of my soul
Pop more pills
Eyes slit
I can't even see clearly
The pain must be really bad
But I keep it from reaching
The top of my brain stem
And stare at the blank screen
Of my mind's eye
And nothing comes…
I see the young girl that inspired
Me on the train
And it's all I can do
To keep from all out crying.
My friends look at my
Blanched face
The lines a little too deeply
Etched.
So if I cannot write
My unborn poems
I will write about the pain
That keeps me from them.
I lead an extraordinary life
Pain included…
I can't ignore the knocking
On the door
Anymore…
