A poem about my constant thoughts and I how express them in my poetry. |
A brand new type of music, are the words from my mind. Follow them closely, leave no syllable behind. The beat is one to which I dance. Like a ballerina, I twirl, I prance. It sounds so good, maybe only to me. A girl in her groove, it seems to be. Doing my thing, or my thing will do me. Writing and singing sets this soul free. Free from destruction, I am in total bliss. My words in your mouth, lips I must kiss. An artists muse derived from inspiration. A mess, you say, is this creation. It sounds so well rolling off of my tongue. Many more words, the night is young. No sleep till emptiness finds a way to my thoughts. Ricocheted inside ringing a million shots. None fatal, all bearing a verse. This hobby of mine can be a curse. When my eyes shut I see nothing but scribbled lines. Like a window without curtains, you see through the blinds. My mind is open, consistently talking. A silent haven, in which I'm stalking. I'm not a master of this art, this art is my master. Scattered and confusing....my thoughtful disaster. My mind is a battle field, I forever fight. When the hell can I turn out the light? Like crystal meth, I've enlightened your senses. With broken grammar I tear down your fences. Sing along with me, my tone is not deaf. First let me sleep, my mind needs a breath.. |