littlemisspoet's Journal

paper wads

strewn about the room

covered in my half thoughts

my unfinished sentences.

the tap of my pencil

on my brand new

legal pad

is all i can hear

aside from the roar

of my moms

old vacuum.

the words are trapped

somewhere inside

this mind of mine,

dying to get out,

im sure.

or perhaps

they were sucked up inside

that old

devil of a vacuum

twirling around

with the dust and the dirt

only to be condemned forever

to the life

of a half thought.