Plague

I lay asleep
while you
thumb through
the pages 
I call art

I dream 
in turmoil
of past anxiety
and future fears
knowing the
ink I disgorge
will eventually 
make its way
on my canvass
for the 
critical eye 
to see

the gate keeper
rules
the entrance way
from my subconscious
to the state 
of mindfulness

leaving my
self torment
to captivate me

Poetry is 
my release
it is a 
soothing antibiotic
to the 
hurtful truth
that besiege me

there is 
no cure though
just temporary
relief of
a plague that
will always
be there