Thoughts fall over one another
scrabbling to escape my head
They know they are not welcome
here in this little dungeon home.
They press their faces against
my fingertips, in the hope
that I may start to bleed.
Isn’t that what writers do?
Smear their privacy on parchment
then display it for others to see.
They know it is only a matter
of time before they see daylight.