Countless ideas flood my mind 

just as my head hits the pillow.

Songs, poems, and stories unwind

As my eyes sink, heavy and low.

Even when I sleep this art lingers

Evolving into a vibrant dream.

All my imaginations wake and slur

Into a mesmerizing stream.

Helpless to reach the page

The art remains behind my eyes,

My brain has become a cage

condemning creativity to die.

My art is the broken constellations 

Between dreams that can’t connect.

Nothing but internal hallucinations 

That ink can’t seem to resurrect.