How I Write

March 31, 2008
I’ll just come storming in here
With my blood boiling and frothing
With words yet unsaid.

I’ll just whip out a piece of paper
And a black pen or a pencil
With an eraser to destroy words I am not ready to face.

My veins and arteries shall become
The neat lines that crisscross my white body
As my scribbled thoughts race across my mind.

My pen will race my brain
To hunt down words that hide in the shadows
Of the dead-end maze in my head.

And I’ll write you a story
So you can see the torrential tempest
That brews inside of me.

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