The abyss of every poet

Maybe it will be a step across the line to call myself a poet. I find poetry in the tiny things we miss out on everyday. Feeling the poetry in something and pouring it down on a paper is a task of it's own. It is nerve-wrecking and heart-wrenching to find the write words to pen the right feeling. It truly is a ride through the void.

…

Looking into the nothingness,

I fall deep into the yawning abyss,

Round n round into the fathomless spiral,

Letting the darkness place an iniquitous kiss.

Suddenly at once, the spiral stops,

Suddenly at once, reality ceases,

Leaving me drifting into the unknown,

Until every second in forever freezes.

My brain is screeching words,

While I try to knit them into a sweater,

A sweater, just to save me from the cold,

Because it hard to be a poet and be warm altogether.