the words
were intangible
today
i cast my net
and came back
with nothing
except these
circular incisions
and this
manic malaise

this is when
the stories
reveal themselves
when writing
becomes
nigh herculean
yet my obsessive
demands that
every single day
i write
because legacies
do not build
themselves and
i have been okay
with dying
anonymous since
it dawned on me
it is exactly
how i have
always lived

i need to write

instead
i went manic after
a death defying
spiral
and all i want
is to write
to be someone else
to escape this
hell of need
i vibrate
too tired
to sleep
too manic
to write
yet unable
to stop the
torrential
tumult of
thoughts

the words
were
intangible today
grasping smoke
another
impossibility
as i tossed
my handspun net
fruitlessly
into the sea