Pieces.

Pieces of poems scramble my mind creating line after line under my eyes.

I write so fast that my handwriting turns to scribbles.

But then I have those periods where I have writers block.

I start to scratch and twitch because if I don't write for more than 5 hours

I begin to have withdrawals.

I can't think straight and my hand begins to flex the air as if I'm writing.

I have to write.

Even if it's just my ABC's over and over again.

I get poems in my head in the car with no writing utensil.

I even pluck the crayon from my little sister's hands before the poem eats away at my brain.

Words are like bugs, they crawl on my skin.

Digging beneath me like needles with sedatives.

I'm addicted.

Addicted to the only outlet I know.

Twitching and mumbling like a schizophrenic unable to contain the onrambling dictionary in my head.

They string together like a corset causing my rib cage to pulsate.

Unable to breathe air that doesn't come in the form of a sonnet.

Without poetry, my heart collapses into cardiac arrest.

My tongue is under arrest for not being able to roll fast enough to form consonants that create unknown vowels.

I become delusional seeing words seep out of my ears unable to push them back in.

Verbal vomit swaddling the toilet.

My lyrical mouth has lock jaw unable to utter another onomatopoeia.

So my hand collapses worse than senior citizens with arthritis.

Reaching for the pen that has no ink just to feel the high of writing.

There is no rehab for my addiction.

So instead

I carry a pen in my ear ready to use my body as a canvas.

Forever mutilating my body until I'm diagnosed with ink poisoning.

I am an addicted poet

unable to shut down my brain.