Sometimes I can't stop my pen,
From sprinting across paper,
Its like the vortex in my mind,
Decided to spill over.
They never stop, these words were caged,
And they escape in torrents of heat,
First they were drowning me in my mind,
Now I'm drowning in parchment sheets.
The words just seem to ebb and flow,
Without making much sense to me,
So I let the sound of rustling paper,
Swallow my anxiety.
And later if my pen runs dry,
Before all my thoughts come free,
I'll coax my pen's dying blue,
To leak some more for me.
