I've thrown away so many thoughts,
But I've never taken out the trash.
A pool of twisted-up papers,
Scribbled on with words and drawings, So much nonsense that even if you were to carefully uncrumple a page it would be a indecipherable mess of scribbles and nonsense.
Sometimes I burn a thought, but the ashes still sit in the fireplace and try to remind me of what I have erased from my head.
Some thoughts are like flies, and no matter how much I swat and swipe at them, they always nag me, floating right out of my reach.
Some thoughts stay rooted in my mind. The ones that trick me into thinking that there is a method to the madness, the ones that build me up with fake bricks and say I will hold strong.
There are notebooks filled with ideas, papers that have been worn with care. The thoughts that I can pore over endlessly, envying the worlds beneath my eyes that I can never reach.
Occasionally though, a thought will be locked away, because even if none bring peace, this one will not even try to hide it's attempts to break through the wall that is my mind.
