Free Flowing

I feel that  I've forgotten how to write poetry
My mind is full of useless social media quips
And the idle chatter of mundane jobs
That I keep up with to stay alive.
My thoughts are flocks of ravens  
Gathered round to pick the flesh from my bones.
 
I see myself ragged and broken
A thousand times over.
Each in a new, most exciting,
And yet so familiar way to die.  
 
The feeling of my heart sinking  
Has become part of a mournful song
That flutters to rise like morning birds  
In the summer of my life  
And sinks into the cold depths  
Of the winter when everything goes awry.
 
I spend my days wishing for the next high,
The next elating sensation of touching heaven itself.
I live my life lapping words dripping honey and whiskey from wise lips,
Aching for every healing touch I might find,
Laughter shaking through me like a shiver in the moonlight....
 
Poetry is in me.  
I am so lost.  
But poetry lives in me.