speed up, slow down.

sometimes the words blurt out,
splashing onto a page like the spilled ink that you
once stepped in and left footprints
behind you as you ran away.

my writing is always a frenzy, 

can't stop the letters from clawing out of my throat

like knives scratching me from the inside.

and oh, my heart is a ticking clock: the hands

speeding faster and faster as i look at a
page with lines and lines of space, 

can't erase my thoughts, cause

i'm moving too fast now as

stanzas fly by, but they're

awkward and heady,

so calm down, girl, 

it's alright now, 

just breathe
and, 

stop and think.

but i just lay it all out as 

my body bursts to its seams,

lungs pressed down and starched,

systems still and steady, careful stitches
of skin undone as the surfeit of phrases move

through my blood like living cells.

i hold down on the wound to keep
the blood from seeping out and about,
clotting words making a jumble of thoughts,
and so i lay it all out, for only then, can i finally breathe.