This relates to how words call to us, find us and heal us, writing as therapy.




Never enough

Can these morphemes

Serenade to me

This cellular longing, pursuing

A desperate charge


Visit me when I break

In this contemplative reach

Edit my thoughts as I tumble

Show me with my impetuous trend

Take me over, occupy me


As I strain to prepare for

The flicker, a brainchild

Flushed with an uncommon science

I’m growing accustomed to

Is it unhealthy for me to form such reliance?


This idolized nectar

That deciphers my hysteria

And appeases my compulsion

A delicious luxury?

In solace, this phantom, can it be more?


Or am I deluded in this philosophy

Call me up to the substance!

As I rabidly yen to address that revelation

Without, I fall on a mood to inescapably disintegrate

For it may be that’s the reprieve I’m watching for



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