words spill from my wound,
leaping off the paper,
cascading to the floor.
they tumble out the door.
Reaching out, they elude my grasp.
Following I become lost.
An empty ache torments my mind,
wondering where they vanished to.
but there is no cohesion.
Phrases running amok in my head,
drift slowly to my pen.
But alas, there is no tale to tell,
only words stacked up one
They will not align themselves
to paint the image that I hold within.
No panacea for my plight.
and words spill out again.
© Ann Christine Tabaka
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