The words I scribble ferociously.
I burn the paper with my pen.
But the tingling words emerging,
still can't explain you.
The millions of billions of thoughts.
Dancing in my head, shredding my eyes.
This waste of space.
It's all about you.
Then the deafening sounds, the screaming.
Oh, how I long to scream again.
The rattling inside my cage.
It's your name. It's all for you.
These Fifty-Seven echoes.
Booming through the screen.
Vibrating into reality.
Are all for you my friend. You.
who is You, though?
ReplyDeletewhoever the reader wants it to be.
ReplyDeletein my poems i don't think of one particular person when referring to 'you'. I hope that the reader knows themselves that the 'you' applies to someone they know from the readers point of view.