because i can't talk.
"Why can't you talk?"
because i never really learned how to.
"Why does that make you write?"
because writing lets me say what i want,
and i know that those words are always my words.
"What are your words?"
they are who i am,
and what i feel.
"What do you feel?"
the crazy, he be in me,
but when i write, he, he float out,
he float out onto the paper,
or the screen, or the back of my hand,
and the crazy, he not be in me,
not for a little while, leastways.
and when the crazy isn't in me,
when i'm getting he out of me,
i can do anything, i can go anywhere, and i can
"What happens to you after you write?"
he come back, but it takes him a while.
he comes back, every time, but i write,
and i sing, or i read, or i talk.
"What does he do?"
he makes me look over my shoulder, he's that guy
you don't want to be, he's the little tulpa, the little
demon on my shoulder, he doesn't let me think afore
talking, he asks me why i'm doing that,