never ever will i write a poem

that i need to put away and get out later

i like the flow of the sink and the faucet of my thoughts

that at the granite of my pencil, the faucet can churn

a powerful stream of water

hot or cold it depends

seemingly innocent by the looks

but catch the thoughts hot and they burn as they escape

catch the thoughts cold and they freeze my ears to the core 

always the same method of madness

because sometimes too many thoughts clog the sink

Like I've had swimmer's ear my whole life

Just need them to seep their way out

for me to hear myself clearly for bit

right here where I sit 

as this pencil turns the faucet on

these words drown the outside now

i guess my ears were full of waterfalls

so i'll be damned if i fight the flow with psychological dams

and plug up the only way the sink runs

for if it doesn't run

i do

and 

that water

that could have come out lukewarm

is now

scolding hot

inside my boiling thoughts

the water only errodes if it gets under my skin

so flow 

and flow

flow

and 

flow

and flow

whether slow

or explosive

just so i feel the safe feeling again

of an unclogged sink 

my brain still steaming with words 

as the scolding thoughts hit the paper

but this water

left inside my sink 

is now

cool to the touch

In these very moments I realize well

that I am truly happiest when these thoughts are expelled