Spiral Notebook

  
in the darkness of your thoughts
I find myself echoing in time

can you write something that isn't crap today?
 
I think on this in my spiral notebook
while I spiral out of control
my egos all speak out
 
don't write  
 
no not a word
what is the point of it all?
I spend my time driven  
seeking that bit of perfection
so often it falls flat
 
yes it crashes to the ground
  
there are words that will never see the light
because as soon as the idea formed
it was found flawed
 
trashed  
 
it's often in my depressed state
an idea seems unfit
I lack the energy to birth it into the world
as a fully evolved creation
 
can you write something that isn't crap today?
 
I write as my muse allows
no command performances
artistic expression doesn't work that way
the more I press myself
 
the less said
 
ideas die alone in the dark  
as unformed entities
to be reincarnated in the mind of another
 
to at last breathe
 
take in the living air of a poem  
a thing of inspiration
it then comes full circle
 
a masterpiece