The Passion of the Pen

All this passion bottled inside me
I think that’s where the trouble comes from
Where the “If I could just get out of my skin and go somewhere” feeling starts
A quiet volcano rumbling just below my right temporal lobe
Threatening to melt me inside out
And the only pressure valve is here in front of me
If only I could get passed the film, this velum that holds me in
I can see passed it to the blurry beyond, watery shapes and thoughts not fully formed
But just at the tip of my tongue
If I could write while I dream, set my hand on auto pilot
It might come out better
While I sleep the epiphanies come and the world takes order if I could grasp those images and take them with me as I wake
To throw them on paper and cement their existence
If they are not to be released before the pressure peaks
Like Pompeii it’ll be, infant sentences frozen in shape as they were the last moments of their life
Like super heroes flying by leaving but a trail of red cape, wearing masks to conceal their true face, my most creative thoughts costume themselves during daylight hiding as if vampires only to suckle on my life when I close my eyes.