these words will not write themselves

by Andrea Traietti on September 27, 2018


by Sam Ward ’21

an inkwell spilled over
Photo courtesy of

each sentiment rises and falls as if the moon inspires
but these are brain waves
living, breathing, decaying
eternal in space, ethereal in time

a reprieve from continuity
complacent thoughts comatose
its perfection or insanity
and these thoughts will drive you mad

so spill black and blue blood spelling out spirit
spell with each the hand that guides
        with each the symbols that hide
        with each a desire that burns where your cognition resides

                                                         You are not without weakness

these whirling wrinkles whistle by your ears
but you wont be here unless you look in the mirror cause

you are not without weakness
these words will not write themselves

the ghost writer who keeps you up at night
will not revel in the respite but rather
atone the anxiety and administer the anguish
find your peace between the margins

your mind will condone the grip you have on the bic pen
the ink bleeds to your wits ends.