The words, the words – they scream, begging for release, clamoring, vying for attention, pieces of poems and paragraphs of prose push and pile one upon the other until I hear nothing more than noise, until they become nothing more than sound without substance, until I’m forced to lock them away, somewhere so deep within I’m afraid they’ll be lost.
The words, the words – my constant companions, my friends, my sometime foes. Tonight, there are too many, so many I cannot pluck them out and pen them to a page so I doodle and scribble my angst. I write random words and scratch them out. My frustration fills the page.
Perhaps tomorrow they will settle, tomorrow they will whisper. Maybe then I will breathe again.
The Qwiet Muse 
Yes! If it isn’t working, write about it. So well done. If whatever you were trying to write is meant to be, it won’t go anywhere without you. And a little rest.
Elouise
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Fabulous write! Have felt this, but truly you penned something wonderful.
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Thank you 💕
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You’re welcome 🙂 Don’t sell yourself short!
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You actually wrote something though, which I think means you win at wording xoxoxo
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Get them words out when they start piling up! I find if I don’t, I wake up at 3:00 a.m. looking for a pen.
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Actually, for all their chaos, they came out quite well.
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