lever
I am huddled up in my sheets and I haven’t turned the lights on since 4. I’ve set up the whole mood to begin writing something. For the past three days this week, every day I frantically wake up at odd hours; sometimes at 3am, sometimes at 6.30am, sometimes at 2 in the noon with an intense lever pulling at me. “ If I don’t write this exact thought I’m thinking, right now it’ll die” But my laptop doesn’t start, my phone hangs, it’s usually too dark or i’m too lazy to pull a pen out in an old fashioned manner and scrawl. My thoughts run too quick and my hands never catch up, it’s a curse and not once have I been able to complete my whole idea. They never exist on paper, only inside me. But then maybe an hour or so later, I’ll be typing away and anybody can guess: the thought is tainted now, too many spikes of unwanted interjecting rods have poked into it’s skin, and now it’s a whole different organism. Whatever i’ve written, consequentially looks disfigured. This isn’t wha