Late night clatter

Echoing off the walls

Eventually to drown away in the darkness.

Orchestrating a one man ensemble

With the strength of fingertips, I smashed away at keys

Chipping away letter after letter…

Words flow but nothing sticks

Nothing makes sense… yet

There was something festering inside

I could feel it

Lodged deeply within

Insisting to borrow even deeper

If I did not spill and sift through all that was me.

It begged to be picked at

Tugged on until it is finally drawn out

The sleep won’t come until I get it out    

The thoughts won’t cease until I give in.

I heard 2am was made for the writers

The philosophers and deep thinkers

And I could not agree more

But as I sit at my computer

Expelled of another nights cursed demons

On this digital diary,

With hungry bloodshot eyes

Criss-crossed with strained aimless patterns

I’m left brain dead and drained

Hovering over the keyboard

Tinkering at ornaments

Each scattered about my desk

Thinking, no, acknowledging

That this love for words is clearly unrequited.

©Spilling Ink (O.J)


Author: thespillingink

SpillingInk is the creative combination of active minds putting fun, obstacles, triumphs, life and its untold similarities shared into Written Art

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