creating constellations

if the words die, so do i

what do i do when the words stop coming?
that's really all i am, isn't it?
someone who uses stanzas as a disguise,
riddles their secrets into rhymes,
and transforms everything they love into metaphors.

what do i do when the thing that keeps me sane ceases  to exist?
how will i get closure without exposure?
because that's what my words are,
a way to feel better without actually facing anything.

my pen is provoking the thought of postponing the pain,
saving it for a rainy day,
but the skies are always clear in my brain.

i want to be an idea, something that people think about before they fall asleep,
something up to interpretation.
ideas don't feel or care about what people think.
but i do,
because i am concrete,
a concrete girl that delves herself into something so abstract.

i hope the words don't die before i do.