Lost

Sometimes I crave your freedom -
your ability to turn words into
symmetry,
fling yourself into blank paper
and cover it with
nostalgic memories.

I have become a hostage
in my own head,

unable to create
unable to purify
this morbid existence.

While you wrap yourself
around syllables of poetic bliss,

I fill up my pages with
chaos –
cloudy thoughts that
steal beauty
and force darkness.

I want to bite from that stillness

corrupt my head

with your sunshine

and silence.