There is still one thought, I cannot see.
It pertains to the rhyming of poetry.
No matter the journey; No matter how far,
My task is putting my thoughts into a jar.
A jar that when I remove the lid,
Will emit words of the adventures, I did.
Writing down this most random thought
I am always interested to see what I wrought.
Sometimes these words are just sitting there,
Magically they would appear, out of thin air.

The words hang heavy
over my head,
pressing firmly,
around my neck,
weighing me down,
without uttering a sound,
I have drowned
in my silence.

(a little re-write from 12/2017)

A lonely tear, slides down my cheek
as I think of this life of ours.
It pains me when recalling you,
now the tear has become two.
I am not weeping, there is no more.
Just the tick of a clock.

My mind is running away from me.
I think I need a pre frontal lobotomy.
Thoughts that are stuffed in every place,
Wedged in cracks or any empty space.
I need some time. Time to think
Or I may have to turn to drink.