Sometimes, my brain won’t shut off,
And the voices won’t quit.
Not sure if I’m crazy
Or just creative.
If it’s a blessing,
Or something that requires medication.
There are days when sleep is nowhere within my reach,
And a pen and paper is all that I need.
There are days when these thoughts won’t stop or even slow down at the signs.
I look out my window and wonder when did the sun rise.
I never even saw it set.
Upper Eyelid, this is Lower Eyelid.
It’s time that you two met.
A writer’s mind with the commitment of an addict.
An alcoholic’s wine with an insomniac’s habit.
I have to keep it to myself that the voices are talking,
But they’re not talking to me.
They don’t even want my opinion;
I have to just let them be.
They live up here in my mind, and they’re so ruthless.
Serving them eviction papers would be useless.
Because they come back every time,
Luring me with the same ole lines;
Coaxing me with thoughts that aren’t even mine—they just belong to me.
I swear to you that I’m not crazy.
Very few survive this.
It’s not even a matter of strength to be able to handle it,
But more of a matter of understanding that you can’t,
So don’t even try.
It’s just another day in the life
Of a writer’s mind.