Possession, rapid tick-ticking

Of thick-witted sickness

My hands demand I bleed out

The words

You'd concieve me mad

Well maybe

I am--

or

May

be

this

life

is

merely

a

madness

Dressed in raucous truths

Augmented by

fantasy

fallicy

folly

flippancy

friviloty

She sent me a text

Saying I don't love you

I sent her one back

Saying

I love you too.

She left me a note

Saying please go away

I left one for her

Will I see you today?

Her voicemail specifically

Said please do not phone

I called her right back

Saying

Are you alone?

Here messages fill me

With hope though they say

She will call the police

If I don't go away.

I write to ignite frightened minds and remind them of the might they might be inclined to find inside the confines of life interwined with divine vibes and sublime rhymes propeling lives to rise and thrive. I write because words are magic and sentences are spells, and the thought of underutilizing ourselves is tragic so I feel frantic to go savage and ring some chilling bells. I write because letters are elements, words are molecules, and paragraphs are the means to create worlds forming books upon shelves. I write because I can.

Understand?