Stephen Alexander North

This Tumble Of ThoughtsBloated with wordsA monstrosity of withheld expressionDusty wine bottles full of regretAn itching of the skinWrithingExposed raw nervesLike downed power linesDeadly live wiresAnxiety like a nest full of snakesOily bullets with engraved namesWaiting to be loadedInto magazines full of sadnessHopeless dead endsWhy this tumble of thoughtsWhere am I going?