the words

come out not when they're needed,

so desperately needed,

urgently needed,

matter-of-fact[ly] needed,

only when they're heartfelt,

and wanted,

dreamed,

impassioned.

not lulled,

drug,

soon to be buried,

even sooner to be forgot. 

but- those words are the only

worth anything.

the only determinants 

of a perchance happier future,

career, state of mind...

write, i must.

though i shudder. 

you've

thirteen more rings

round your waist

round your hands

round your tongue

than i,

and me?

i can't help but

swelter, helter-skelter

midst and against each of those rings;

bearing my adolescence like a 

summer sheath

 begging to be

peeled, appealed 

quickly

off and away 

so that i can swim cool and proper

without restraint

of too little

or too many 

years and things and experiences,

she obstinately tells me. 

where

can i escape to?

why

can't i escape? 

or swallow

some countless number

of sweet, sweet lozenges.

perhaps then

i shall be free.

maybe

if i hold my breath

long enough.

if

i commit (       )

and fail

i'll be no less

embarrassed

with myself.

i want to

i have to

i'm going to,

lest i be stopped

on the way home.