I like the shadow of my pen on the bedroom ceiling
the outline of my thumb
as I count...1,2,3,4 knuckles
Moving from left to right
As words flow
and fingers race to catch up
My hand flows across the crisp paper
I fill notebook pages
expel ink from blue and black pens
earnest attempts to make sense of the thoughts
that plague me
haunt me
humor me
Two a.m. is the hour of the insomniac
When my chest tightens
and the pen is drawn to my hand
as pen to paper replaces razor to skin