I rack my brain.
Is that really it.
What is it ?
It seemed so important.
It seemed so on the tip of my tongue
I pulled it hand over hand out of the dark place,
Toiled as I dragged it out into the light.
Gutted myself with a butter knife,
Just to make sure every word was truth
Just to make sure every word was perfect.
Explored my pain from every angle,
Excruciating detail begets excruciating clarity.
To realize that we have nothing left to say.