You don’t tell your heart to beat.

You don’t need to think to blink.

I don’t have to reach inside,

these words -

they just come out of me.

My mind is a symphony,

I think in a melody,

I fail to hear the sound of me,

But I still call it harmony.

I swear I don’t write poetry,

Most my pieces are like silent music.

These words just sorta come to me,

a muse I find truly amusing.

Let’s speed this up.

Dammit.

Not again!

“Babe! Have you seen my wrench?”

“What!?!”

“My wrench!!!”

“Did you even look for it!?!”

“Uh… Yeah!!!”

“Check your pockets!!!”

“Yeah? I got it!!!”

Let’s overclock the metronome,

I hope you’re ready. Here we go!

Waking up all through the night,

I try and try to keep it quiet,

My mind won’t let me fall asleep,

Unless I write the sounds it’s writing.

I have music in my dreams.

It’s a chorus of shrill screams.

Tearing canvas at the seams.

Maybe tell me what it means?

Sonnet of my pain, you think?

The notes have pushed me to the brink.

These lyrics, to my soul, do sink.

I’ll probably send this to my shrink.

Perhaps he’ll see the missing link.

Or send it back - just with a wink,

‘I think it’s just the sounds of ink.’

You don’t wanna

read my writing -

I swear it stinks.