My thoughts once flowed from mind to paper,
An endless and effortless river.
No conscientious planning,
Instead the piece just appeared -
A creation of my insanity.
Words materialized,
Perfect for the setting,
Ideas never came to me -
They took hold of me.
I was their slave,
Their scribe,
Their channel to creation.
In my depression I never wondered,
Where my works originated,
I was never curious,
For it seemed natural
To write without exertion.
Until a passerby on my life-long road,
Asked me how I wrote so swiftly,
How the ideas came to me.
I stopped and thought,
For the very first time.
And I was speechless to reply.
For years afterward
No writing passed my hand,
No pieces emerged unnoticed.
Until one day, I sat alone
And tried to write my mind.
It was then I realized
That my gift had gone,
And my writing came out
Staggered
And the words slipped my mind.
And never since have I
Let my feelings emerge
And consume my writing hand.
I have shut my walls
Fortified my mind
And closed off all the exits.
But the insanity is still inside.
Copying this work to another webpage without author permission is plagiarism.
Plagiarism is a misdemeanor, usually punishable by fines of $100-$50000 and up to one year in jail.
Comments on Supressed