Four years

This page lay dead.

Words swirled, little by little, inside my head, each year. 

This - foil to everything I actually wanted to write, lay locked.

The words had nowhere to go. 

Mornings I woke in clouds of verse,

Comebacks, framed 3 days too late

Inner monologue all dressed in colour

Flew down a river that didn't exist. 

You must write. Travelogues. Film Reviews. 

You must write. Recipes. Food Reviews. 

You must write. Form, structure, coherance.

Tripe. 

Words I can have here -

Thoughts as they flow.