I can only write alone.
people around me
they look, they breathe.
their brains zip and crackle
a mental maelstrom,
drowning my thoughts.

I cannot write in pain.
It seeps into the page,
gnarling
words into hateful shapes
with acidic bitterness.

Music helps me write
fingers move to the rhythm
words dance obediently to their place,
a verbal concert of slick little sounds.

Yet now,
as I read these lines,
figuring out the final part,
I find myself wondering
if I,
can write at all.