FEVERED THOUGHTS

I want to write something deep. I want to write something that would make you stop to catch your breath. Is this possible? I have tried with each and every word in my arsenal to make you look at words in a different light. I have failed.

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_{Picture and poem are my original content although they first appeared on my instagram account , @warpedpoetic.}

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I thought the devil was in the details until I saw that the details took me deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole and with each story I found myself lost. It was a mystery. I could not find the end of a story that satisfied me. In fact finding my way about a story became difficult with each passing day.

The urge to write was still there but the words refused to come together to form the beauty that I saw deep within me. I knew there was something I needed to say that would make my readers feel the emotions that bubbled within me but each line felt wrong no matter how hard I tried.

I tried the different tools I have used over the years to create the fiction of the writer insanely focused on his project. I tried music and though the music became better, darker, deeper, rougher, I could not rouse my inspiration.

I tried weed. I boiled it and drank it, I chewed it, I soaked it with liquor, I smoked it but I could barely write. I started great lines but after a few minutes I lost my way in the maze that my thoughts had become. I sometimes tried to find my way back to my story but mostly I sat in the dark and watched the vivid pictures created by my doped up imagination.

I tried alcohol and got drunk while my phone ran out of battery playing songs that I snored to, too wasted to dance. Sometimes I sat in bars and watched the world stumble passed even as smoke curled from my lungs and I tried to put words to the pain that I see. It just never succeeded in getting the feelings across.

I am folding to dust,
My feathered tips and ink pots.
I am receding the words back
Into my lips like a wave
Before a tsunami bursts through.
I am retreating my verses
Into the dark cold places
That fed them life.
I am ending the poetry
Before life consumes me.
I am done with the words
That eat me up.
I am going to sit silent now
And watch the world burn.

I think writing has become too much for me to handle. It started like a dream but the skill will fade with misuse or lack of use and I think I have been unable to use the skill right. I am going to either burnout or stop midway.

The verses are still on my tongue but I dare not try to open my lips because I do not know what I would spew. I am scared that I would delve too deep and rouse a demon that was best left asleep at the dark bottom of my thoughts.

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I am still battling malaria. I don't know what I am writing but I need to write something though. Good day to you and yours.😍