Thoughts

Hear the thoughts coming from me.

Hear the scratching on the paper.

The words are ignored.

There is nothing left to write.

But my thoughts.

My thoughts are ripe.

They flow freely.

And are locked inside a journal.

And my mind.

Is my safehouse.

And my darkness.

Who breaks me down.

The moon befriends me.

It shows my weakness.

Exposed in the blinding light.

Of the stars.

And the ocean.

Holds me hostage.

To drown under waves.

That don't reach the mainland.

But my thoughts.

My thoughts are ripe.

They flow freely.

And sink into the waters.