I Wish I Knew What to Write

*** Inhales. Exhales ***

Shallow breaths becoming frantic,

Confusion slowly building,

Putting pen to paper,

Trying to clear his thoughts,

Having neither rhyme nor reason,

He tosses it away,

Trying to look deep into the window of his soul,

If only the view was as clear as a sunny day,

He might have seen his reflection,

Taking all effort not to soil his hands as he digs,

Deeper and deeper,

Not dirt, but life,

Having sown many rips,

What more could he reap?

Holding a needle to the tears,

So blurred he can’t see where to begin the stitch,

Overwhelmed with thoughts of perfection,

‘What if I make a mistake?’, was the question on his mind,

He moves to his other vices,

Slowly drinking to a climax,

Whispering the words, “I like it. It likes me.”

It worked deliciously,

Or so it seemed,

Because in reality nothing really worked,

Still empty on the inside,

He mutters, “I like it. It likes me...”