Thoughts scribbled with abandon.

On paper, the floor, the wall, or my hand.

Etched into writing.

My pen, the only sound;

spilling the contents of my brain,

just as soon as it spills ink.

My mind, numbed.

Lost in the sound of pen on paper,

with the empty audio around me.

Yet I struggle to write what’s within,

rather than relieve my burdened mind.

If I only could …

If so, then I could put an end to the flawless hurricane,

the howling wind in my skull.

Release the elemental evil

like steam;

with the urgency of a finished

yet frustrated teapot.

But unfortunately,

tea time has been canceled today.