Purposefully Untitled
rating: +6+x

God, there's nothing I can write.
Words are as thick as molasses,
Dribbling out my skull onto the keyboard.
There's no meter, no metaphor, not even a facsimile of meaning.

I'm trying to build a cathedral with a shovel.
I'm performing a surgery with a brick,
Pummeling the page until neither of us can recognize the other.
Why am I doing this again?

The world is behind a fishbowl.
Or am I inside the fishbowl staring out?
Whatever it is, I can't see it.
I can't tell if that taste is the tears or the saltwater in my cup.
I used to have a goldfish.

The world is too cold, but God am I burning.
The world is burning, yet there's snow in Ohio.
Or is it Texas? Fuck it.
This isn't the time for commentary.
When did my head start to swim?
Why am I so stuck on fish?

My head feels like a smoked out hive and the workers are dancing in my stomach.
What does that even mean?
I remember running away from a swarm,
It felt just like this.

My skull is sizzling,
Like a fish frying in a pan.
Inspiration pops like bacon grease,
scalding me before it's lost,
like Icarus to the seas.

I'm alone on an island.
I'm screaming in a walk-in freezer.
I'm pouring myself another cup of coffee.
God, there's nothing I can write.

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