the best of my poetry happens whenever my heart is ready to burst,
when my feels are brimming over,
and i cant think properly,
the best of my poetry occurs in the dead of night
when sleep is damn near impossible,
and the dark is like my thinking cap
bringing memories of pain to the forefront of my mind,
and thats when the best of my poetry comes to life.
but what happens when i've gone numb?
and the pain no longer hurts in the way that gets my blood boiling,
and the raw words flowing,
what happens when the well of my emotion runs dry?
i am a poet because my experiences have given me a voice,
my past has given me a cause,
and the memories i have gave me something to stand for,
but soon, there will be nothing to stand on.
because the river of my confusion, my anger at life
has diminished, the banks are solid, the mud and tides already beginning to subside
the best of my poetry happens in the dead of night,
when im sleep deprived,
and my heart is driven crazy with memories.
but what, dear brain of mine, will happen if i start to sleep?