Drug of Choice

 

I’m filled with conjecture 

yet at a loss for words–

the ink’s run out the well’s run dry

this is where it ends.

But it’s like a bite that itches

waiting to be scratched,

a muscle twitch I can’t control

and sometimes, it’s a high.

Mostly it’s my drug of choice

the pen is my syringe

a blank page waits in front of me

and I begin again.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024

NaPoWriMo Day 30: Read that it's about beginnings and endings, or endings and beginnings. This is where my words went with it.