The room was small;
There was street graffiti on the wall
And a bed next to it;
They were both on the bed
And he was on the top of her;

To her,
It was peculiar with this boy,
She couldn’t stop gazing,
At the face expressions he had.
In the face as he was making his way into her;

She knew,
She would remember this moment;
His ****** expression was dear;
It was as if the waves were splashing,
One by one, against the shore
And made white foam;

His young face was in bliss,
In torment,
In joy,
In ecstasy;
He was stuck in and was suffering, flying;

The fire is burning wildly,
But the wild is unaware,
What used to haunt the hunter,
Now hunts the hare.

Moles deep in their holes,
Hoping it will pass,
But alas, it searches, pokes and prods,
Its burns deeper than grass.

Hoping for an escape,
To a river, to a lake,
Run, shreik, scramble dig,
This fire isn't fake.

Trusting in someone.
A swinging suspension bridge.
My balance fails me.

Staring
at the empty word document on my screen
Waiting
for a jolt of poetic words that can express
everything inside of me I've been avoiding
But I'm coming up with nothing
empty hands
empty mind
empty heart
I feel censored in my art  
and I don't know how to remove the static