creativity – Can't Not Write

High Functioning

Pen scratches, dirty dishes
stained pillowcases
uniform
Sleep.

It happened again,
An unwelcomed guest
Crossed paths before
Over and
over again.

Cut, cut, cut
the young girl’s hair falls to the floor.

You ask yourself, who will I be now?

Seeing is believing.
A sea of red in a crowd of voices,
people who were once separated.

How very studious of you
How very productive

Pour another glass, tuck yourself in
You have nowhere to go
no one to see
Not in this world

Time starts and stops
and starts to stop
Between the seconds I’ve lived a dozen lives.

I only see you in dreams.
Don’t dwell on it
Don’t think about what could have been

In the middle of a headache
I imagine my nerves are the roots of a tree.

A gentle caress from familiar fingertips
a longing to be wrapped up,
completely surrendering
to a past intoxication.

These bones are iron
to sink
and shake.
She did this to herself.