Sometimes I turn my back on

Myself

To stop the writing,

The ever pressing feelings.

Pretend not to listen to all the thoughts

Ricocheting

On my insides.

My heart and head

Moving at the speed of light.

I hold on too tight

Trying to tame them,

Trying to shrink them

That I may grasp and squeeze them

Into ink.

Most often

They do not translate;

They do not fit.

Unsoundness of mind

Prevails.

Alienation my companion.

Sometimes.