Destination

I haven’t written

And I know why

All my words have evaporated from my veins

leaving behind merely stains

of what insight i once utilized

to give rise to my art

but lately i don’t know where to start

i’m lost in this maze

drenched in a craze

drained of the thing that is supposed to define me

i don’t know what i can do

if i cannot create poetry

can i be?

or see?

evolve into more than flesh and property?

make myself free

of the anxieties and dearth of variety

that has emerged in my mundane existence?

for everytime i attempt to write

i’m embracing an internal resistance

that is restraining me

from refraining these

thoughts crashing within my skull

ideas escape my memories

but then they diminish

far before i can finish a poem

like this

do you get the gist?

the writer within me is rustling in the mist

so i must grasp these lines in my fist

so the lingering poet within

can spin inside my soul

a few more cycles

so i can sustain or recycle

a bit of inspiration

that has not passed its expiration date

for i cannot wait for some new beauty

to arrive on my doorstep

or the welcome mat of my heart

it takes too long to reboot

so i can’t delay and restart

i must depart from the current obligations

and deprivations of my reality

escape pathetic fallacies

and plain desperation

and write my way to a new destination.