Enjambment

I write

because I have a condition;

because I don’t have a song to sing;

I have a God sized hole to

fill inside me;

and I write because I can’t remember

anything. At night

the moon

shines in my window, and

I write, because

some days I can’t see the sun.

I write down

all the

words, all the ugly letters;

I write to

hold a pen, instead of loaded gun.

I want to

bomb the

building, so I write before

I go to

bed; and I can’t sleep so I

write, because I

put the

pen to paper, and I’m

not ashamed that

it would be easier if he was

dead. It makes

no sense,

it means everything! I write

because I hear

the syllabic structure in my head; I

write because the

melody plays

across my synapses and dances

on my skin

and through my lips instead. I write

for love with

no conclusion;

I write to live and

I write to

die. I hate the writing’s shape and

frantically rearrange the

nouns, the

synonyms, hyperboles, and similes, intoxicating

and if you

can’t hear the music, then I don’t

know why. I

would rather

drink poison than to tell

a lie. I

write because I have hands. Without them

I’d find a

way to

get out the words that

race spinning through

my head; I write because my mind

is a burning

pendulum that

will swing until I take

my last breath

By Melissa Lemay

From: United States

Website: https://melissalemay.wordpress.com