soon

soon

i glide over paper,

dance my way through the lines,

teetering on the purple margins, bleeding

out scribbles, butterfly doodles, worthless words

frenzied product of a writer’s block

soon i’m flung across the room, slammed

into the chipped wall; i feel nothing.

silence after the storm drains into the air,

i know i’ll be running dry as

soon as the inspiration strikes, and the words dance

like flames between the four walls

and I bleed out

of ink so black

to fill the empty pages