Block

Advice to the writer,
Advice from one desperate in need,
Unable to group the words
To string them into sentences
With ease.
I miss you.

As I cradle this body of green
Between my fingers,
Staring blindly out at
The world.
Feeling everything,
With no energy to grasp my pen,
No words in return.

Droplets stick to my panes,
Clouds crying to me again.
Sobbing of emptiness and cold.
I can’t comfort them.
Unable to locate my own
Wound for stitching back closed.
They don’t understand how much
I would love to join them.

Holding the cosmos
Between burnt fingers
And psychedelic sleeping mind.
Shaking my mane
To dispose of the yellow dust
Collected from my star.
Hold me. Feel me.

Liquor numbing burnt tongue,
And love bitten lips.
Still searching, still hoping.
Spinning in a kaleidoscope
Of sound.
Holding in the smoke.
Release.

Release.