Almost tolerable
Until the atom bomb is dropped
Destroying every last detail of her ramble
Words that she can never get back
Never remember or read again
And then they lock her out
Make her leave, after giving her comfort
A sick joke and an undeserving punishment
No where to turn as she drowns in her work
That of which is lost, yet to be created
Never knowing what she will say next
Now reflecting on her loss of words
Indescribable detail in the deepest form of vent
A release of frustration and unspoken words
Everything that cannot be can become on an empty page,
one without ink and description
Do not lock her out of her solace or leave her to solitude,
because now that she has felt the spewing of her own venom,
she enjoys infuriating rage and relentless power.