inspiration, inspiration—
swarming through my veins;
ideas, ideas—
bursting in my head
and 'tis not my fault,
they demand themselves be written
at the oddest times
mind racing, whirlwind of thoughts—
thoughts—unspoken and unseen;
each one crashing into the next
leaving me breathless and exhausted,
unlikely i will sleep
'til i pour it all out
i am fond, i won't say
of this adrenaline rush—
staying up until unholy hours of the night
spilling my mind's ink on paper
wish you'd understand,
my rhythm dances to a different drumbeat—
because i have done nothing wrong
by having things i wish i could say
but paranoia sinks in, jumping and alarmed at every little sound because you don't approve,
of the hours that i'm up and about
but how can i make you understand?
that craft knows no time,
inspiration—no boundaries;
it comes and goes as it pleases
marvellous thoughts could go unrecorded
if i were to listen to you,
fortunately i don't
so, clandestinely, i stay up all night,
doing everything that needs to be done
the things you say,
you say for my well-being—that's what you tell me
but had you a care,
you'd let me do as i please
no matter the time of day
the corporeal expression of emotions,
has never been a strong suit of mine
but unfeelingness, that does not imply—
weaving vehemence into words,
penning them as poems;
'tis my catharsis and 'tis what i do best
YOU ARE READING
secrets from the lair
Poetryan anthology of bad poetry, but who cares [the lowercase letters all throughout are intentional, they're not grammatical errors]
