Words die
Sometimes
Their blood
Spilled onto pages
Inked rorschachs
Waiting for us
to bring to them
Understanding
Words die
Death by a thousand syllables
Sometimes
The passing away of keystrokes
Blinking cursors
Blank, white screens
With accusing stares
Words die
We have them
And then we don’t
Sometimes
When our thoughts crystallize
In moments of half sleep
2 am phantoms
Haunting
Words die
Grown to life
Living inside of us
Growing & stretching
Sometimes
Until the pitocin of pressure
Courses
Attempting to cut the words from inside of us
A stillbirth of letters that could have been