Turning On My Word Faucet

Words trickle,
From the faucet,
In a deadly drought.
And I lean in,
Mouth open,
Ready to take in each drop
As if swallowing life itself.

Desperation for life,
For creativity,
For words,
For men in capes and women with crowns,
And confused girls standing at windowsills.

For that light that shines just beyond
That hill of reality

Desperation for that drop,
From the word faucet.

This is the power of words to me.

I crave the power to turn on that faucet
And let it flow,
Streaming life to whoever wants to Taste it.

Featured post

The Monster of Nighttime

insom

As I lie hear,
I have begun to feel my brain.
I feel the neurons moving,
And the energy of movement vibrating.

The monster of Nighttime is laughing,
I can hear him outside my window.
He dangles sleep in my face
So close, he lets me taste it,
Then rips it away.
Cruel, cruel Nighttime.

My Body is heavy,
Lead.
It used to beg my brain to shut up,
But now it just lies there,
Given up,
Helpless.

Knowing it will have to face yet another sunrise
When the world walks about fueled
And it wonders,
Half dozed,
Through faces and places that have become a blur.

I may not be sleeping
But I am in a nightmare.
When will I wake up?
When will I go to sleep?

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