Every day, new words.
Running through my head,
Bouncing around inside,
Trying to escape.
There are days the words can't get out.
And they pile up,
Like a freight train going into a tunnel,
Which has no exit.
The words pile up,
One on top of another.
Crushing each other,
Distorting each other.
Then I am left to sort out the rubble.
What is worth saving?
What can be saved?
Sifting ever so carefully,
To find every meaningful remnant.
There are days that the words
Live peacefully inside my head.
They sit quietly,
Never expecting to leave the comfort
Of my skull.
There are always words.
Each day new words.
Each moment new thoughts.
New ideas.
And I wonder,
Who will hear my words?
Who will listen to my words?
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