“and i don’t know just where to begin”

restless and anxious,

wonder why i am never content, never satisfied.

old pictures, lost memories, and paint to be spread upon walls,

christmas time, poinsettia, and stacked books,

wonder why i can’t wait it out, sit tight.

too many thoughts in my head,

sleepless nights and scraps of magazines spent in bed.

each song, each tune, carries another altering mood,

i try to tie my worries to a string, send them away with a breath filled balloon.

but we all know that oxygen doesn’t float and im sick of looking for something that cannot be found. i know i am the only one who has ever heard this sound, i recognize it as the one that never leaves, good and bad dreams, melting candles, brass handles, french music, and millions of ideas that will never be organized. never be seen. the hope that i have seems to only last untill i sit in my bed and spread all the mental journals out in my head. i can make sense of many things, but this is something i’ll never comprehend, why nothing seems to calm these unending anxieties, creeping and crawling.