It’s like I’ve broken –
my essence spilling across the page
as life ink –
scribbling spindly sentences…
splattered blotches of memory & soul.

Scraps of papery thoughts,
collaged into a faulty image;
causing a deceptive conundrum
of words that struggle to form
a cohesive thought pattern.

A linguistic battle,
raging and shredding ideas
into pieces and fragments
of disparate meaning, struggling
for attention but lacking form.

A writer’s mind is a messy place;
a menagerie of knowledge,
full of contorting reveries
that consciousness can’t seem to grasp.