Automatic Writing
it’s out of my hands
I’m out of my head
all out
of luck and
sickly-sweet
defeat’s scent
stings my nostrils
again
it’s out of my hands
I’m out of my head
thinking straight
escapes
I’ve been
being weary
I might be
on edge
it’s out of my hands
I’m out of my head
I’ll flee through
these notebooks
and paperbacks
I’ll break free through
clicking clacking keys
and seep
through cracked glass screens
like black ink
it’s out of my hands
I’m out of my head
I think
I’m just
thinking
too much