Missing pieces

A cracked window means broken glass

How many times can I fall between the cracks

Before I’m holy, unfiltered, raw


I want to be radioactive and explosive

I want my words to burn deep, corrosive

Er’ry body has their own place in the mess

It’s hard to be more and not be less





I guess I’ll push out some words tonight

Because they say I’ll lose my touch if I don’t

But I can’t help but feel useless in my lack of ideas

Because not much is going through my mind

That voice in the back of my head

That tells me I’m not a writer

Is hard to ignore

When concepts are so hard to grasp

I do not know what direction belongs to me

And maybe I’m afraid to complain too much

So I lay on my comfy couch

Spouting worthless speeches that do not entertain

Writers block

Creep up on me in silence

Take me by the throat and thrash me around

Use your ugly scarred hands

Crush my head onto jagged rocks

Blast my fingers with the hammer

Because I need to feel something

My muse, you are violent with me

And I like it when you crack the whip on my back

So put the poker into the fire and brand me with inspiration

Snap my neck while screaming your sweet ideas

Gouge my eyes with the disgusting plots you love

Create something, anything, and torture me with it