Titles are Overrated

Part 116

It's so tiring,

isn't it?

Everything has to be perfect,

or it should not be.

A single crease in a piece

of paper,

with all the words you

scrawled down

in fear of forgetting -

you would have to scrunch it up

and throw it away.

Start over again.

Discarded like a bruised apple,

a poison you didn't know

was there

until you bit into it.

The taste of blood

lingers on your tongue

from biting your cheeks.

It's hard to keep quiet,

isn't it?

All the thoughts

in your head

are so loud.

It's like a storm,

with rain, thunder,

lightning and wind -

something you should keep safe from.

But it's inside your head

and you cannot

escape it.

There's nothing you can do

except let the rain

soak your skin

and the lightning

set you on fire. 

mind a lit match, thoughts made of gasoline.