Blank White Page

Blank white page that stares at me
And it’s just a place to spill my guts
And I can’t write and I want to write.
I must write and I cannot write
I want to cry but crying won’t help.
Guts spilled are so messy, disgusting
Who wants to see that
On a page of paper?
But I must.
Writing is easy,
It has been said,
One simply stares at a blank page
Until drops of blood form
On the forehead!
I must spill my guts,
Or let them fester
Rot inside me.
Necrosis of tissues
No longer needed,
Excise.
Surgery, guts spilled
On the operating table,
Remove, cut away,
Graft in, replace the rot
With memories
Of good
Is the hope
Blood, there will be blood
Memories stained in it
Mind infused with it
The bloody mess that
Droplets on my forehead
As I spill forth the words
That cannot be held
And will not be quiet

3/19/2010