Talking to Sunken Cheeks
Published in
1 min readJun 6, 2018
“Have I lost my word? How come I don’t remember anything? I need inspiration! I need to move, move, MOVE to find it!” (Walking, walking, walk, walk)
Impatience is making a loud racket: BONG! RING! POP! CLICK!
I have these red cheeks.
I exhale grumpily.
The trees know my frustration;
they turn up their noses,
refusing to take my breath.
It’s like their way of saying,
“Pick at those brains with a chisel,
until you hear the scrapes grind,
until we see blood pouring
out of your ears.”
Sunken cheeks…
I can’t eat, can’t sleep,
until I spit the last few letters
to the page,
until I can finally see my own sunken
cheeks on the wrinkly paper.
