am I the only one
who has ideas
that can't be shared?

I often think
there is something
wrong with my mind

There are no limits
there are no law
just an expanded
limitless reality
without shame
or social norm

    o
   O O
    O


my underwood
need tweaking
sticky shift
sticky apostrophe

while opening it up
I break the ribbon
that springs
the caddy
back into place

a shoelace
a needle
a thread
the 100 years
old ribbon is fixed

I write what
I can't write

What I can't share
what no one knows
but me

I write
these ideas
these fantasy
which fill
my days

My drug
my muse
the substance
which makes
emptyness
bearable

the shadows
that scares me
that temps me
that keeps me alive

This part of myself
that existe without a voice
I give it a voice
for a moment

I write with excitment
still correct my text
knowing it won't survive
the day

Too polite
too scared
I write more
I feel the sensation
in my guts
I follow the
sensation
on paper

Real word emerges
real world drives me
healing happens
in an appology
of my shadow self

I re-read my writings
I enjoy the trigger
I write
addictive ideas

I put it aside
for a moment
Who might find it
what might happen
I'm concerned
and amused

There is only one way
to burn it
to use fire
for it to disapear

The paper burn
but the letters stays
it only makes
my writing more fragile

I need to crush
the paper, the ashes
for the words to join
the emptyness I escaped

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