The letters on this screen,
Plastered like pieces of a mural,
Take too much time and space
In order to describe absolutely nothing.
They come rolling out in waves
Before splashing in flashes
Onto my tired, anxious face.
It's a cycle.
This game I play with myself-
Waiting and wanting-
Until it cuts swathes right out of me.
It's an exhausting process.
This search for the right moment
That never seems to come
And an augury that's not becoming any clearer.
The ink is lain onto this page
Like blood spilled from my punctured veins.
It's useless, really,
Since I know you're never going to see them.
I can still dream, though.
In my dreams you understand
And that's all it takes to make me feel better.
I'm spitting letters
Through the tiny gaps in my teeth
And seeing if they stick together
To form the words I want them to.
If they don't- Fine.
I have a million sentences I'm trying to fulfil.
If they do- Finally!
I can at last mark something off this endless checklist.