writing.

I miss writing. I noticed this as I crave the exertion of force from my pen to my paper. I miss the rhyming, the reaching into the back of my mind for words that describe my thoughts in perfect timing. I feel suffocated. Like my mind has an appetite for jotting each word down like a needle to skin,

a memoir of the bleeding and healing of my mind. Like grabbing a skateboard and starting to grind. I put my mind in drive and my words come alive. Its like a leech feeding off of my blood, a tsunami of words; the synthesis of a flood. Its like everything I think of has already been said, my mind schemes to put obsolete thoughts to shred. Heart's racing at 200 beats a second, blood vessels constricting it's hard to reckon. Will these words break me? Will I fall? If I hit the graphite, I died giving it my all.