Outside the Fishbowl

I go around in circles
in my mind
it has stars of ideas
blinking, discretely
they shine with thoughts
but dim the moment
I get close to them

I concentrate
or maybe I shouldn’t
I want to capture a story
jar it in my mind
shake it with creative sauces
and serve it as a main dish
on paper

I want to feel alive again
it’s the only way I know how
and it scares me that stories
have become so delicate
especially in my stage

I read something the other day
about writer’s block
it’s the fact of wanting it too badly
that makes it feel elusive
and another thing that struck me
like lightening, is that
with a hot dish of heartbreak
comes the blessed ever flowing juices
of creativity

On the other hand,
the floods of word vomit
could never leave your fingers
nor your pens and papers
once that heart drops
in the ocean of red burning love

I want to write
my sole reason of insanity
in a pen or a pencil in my case
I love to listen to the sounds
of lead as they glide on paper
like ice skaters

I feel like a clingy lover
embracing writing jealous
of the bombarding tasks
that pop up like mushrooms

I feel saddened when my mind
feels lonesome without the poking
of my muses my loves
my morphines
my prozac
my cigarettes

I feel alone
when all that I long for
is stuck behind that
hideous wall
they dub
writer’s block

*Sits back
Pours a shot of vodka*

I stand there looking at the floor
marveling at the fallen block
at the
shatters and crumbles
of puzzle pieces
of naked ideas and stories
floating in the air around me

awaiting to be discovered
and inked
on paper

samy charnine fishbowl

Samy Charnine


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