they say art heals, well, i’m not art

i have these thoughts

like little flying bugs

that get all tangled up in

my spiderwebbed brain

and once there,

they're stuck.

and the light behind

my eyes kaleidoscopes them -

each one spinning into some

unpredictable image.

and you are one --

one little thought

spawning a thousand more,

infinitely, in every second -

it's all kind of beautiful

but the colors and shapes blind me,

terrify me, keep my eyes open

and my mouth closed.

in moments, the light bounces

itself into words and phrases

- inescapable -

written on the back of my skull

for my eyes when i blink or dream.

i want you more than i want the sun to rise in the morning.

and now that's caught in

the webs too, condemned

to twist around and make

patterns in my brain until,

likely, the day that i die.