Second-Hand Poet

Moved out back.
the words told me,
to write that,
on a sign, in
an old town.

I look, take notes,
scrawling on my
damp parchment.
Move me. Sway me. Take
me all the way. I am talking
to you. Speak to
me in that secret language
of feelings and concepts.

I put theory into
practice with these
words that you have
kindly
given
me.

My world is
spinning, all
around. Your thoughts
press me hard, right
here in my chest.
I can’t breathe.

Don’t ask me if I am happy,
Don’t say anymore. Please.

I run from you,
the invisible creatures
taking a life of their own
in my own head. Again,
I feel so insane.

The poisonous words
melt from my skin. Bless
me with your curse again.