Anything to keep the faucet going,
anything to keep that great big
hamster-wheel of the heart spin
forever, anything to be a poem.
I realise that my life has been
a series of fortunate events and
several turns of phrase, like the
turnstile of the station nearest
to my first heartbreak. Hark, it’s
9pm and I’m dirty and unwashed
and my soul is like an unpolished
stone. My face is caked in oil.
It’s not that I like being unclean,
it’s just that this is the default,
the state of all mankind. How I’d
love to be be born a shining man,
shining so bright that I could
burn a face if I so wanted to.
This horrible superpower, this
constraint of the eyes in their
sockets, the teeth in their
sockets, the gum in your
mouth half-chewed and
really belonging to someone
else. How I long to love
again, how I long to be in
love, how I longed to
not care about anything.
When I walk into the garden
at a time similar to this one
I try to make sure no-one
is around me, possibly watching
me or waiting to suck my
thoughts out with a straw,
and I let out a quiet scream
as though to find my fellow
frogs hiding in a puddle somewhere.
Anything to keep that faucet
going, this on/off switch of
the throat, anything to keep
the engine of my legs from
breaking down, anything
to get myself out of here
into a quieter place, where
no love lives and no love dies,
where every turn of phrase
is welcome yet expected, like
the first day of spring, or the
last day of school, when you
know that everyone you know
is on the verge of scattering
into a million homes far away.
How do I know anything when
I am so full of everything? I am
so glad to be alone but I am so
desperate to be loved. I am so
desperate for my voice to
ricohet off another convex.

Freewriting Explanation: Every day, Valen shall use 5 minutes to write completely unprompted and uninterrupted, letting the words lead the way. There is no end purpose to each piece, but rather, the pieces are allowed to develop naturally in their own way. The pieces are then uploaded without edits.