My mind seeps with words,
Ideas and thoughts, titles and themes,
Merging and courting with incestuous turmoil.
Mazes of sentences.
Cooking at different temperatures
On the same toiling stove,
Until they may be decanted by way of pencil
Onto their clean paper dish.
Quotes scream deep into my ears,
Their beauty distracting me from my tedious task
Of storing a million ideas in a poor memory.
And now here I sit, still writing,
My mind still boiling with words, phrases, more!
I must write until the pencil lead is gone,
And when that day comes,
I will decant my words