The Drafting Process

To begin with, anything that comes into my head goes down on paper.
A jumble of ideas
Moments recalled
Heartbreak
Jealousy
Doubt
History repeating itself inside my head.
An exorcism of thoughts

Then the order comes.

I pick a form
A sonnet perhaps
De da de da de da de da de da

I need a rhyme scheme
And words that fit
Bed, head
Flies, eyes
Maybe a couplet at the end
To be adventurous

I start to write

“I wake and see the shadows ‘bove my bed.
I sleep, the blackness still is in my head
And won’t release its tentacle-like grip
Even in slumber. How I’ve tried to rip
From its clutches in my waking moments.
Yet each step back angers the beast which vents
Its vile poison once more in my eyes
Before home to nest within my breast it flies.
It is, you see, the horror of this foe
That when you think you’ve beaten him, he goes
And nestles in another part of you
Until you find there’s nothing you can do
But give in to his curse and find yourself
Wrestling not with him but with belief.
He drops you in a whole with no way out.
And leaves you to be consumed by doubt.”

I step back and look at my creation
Finished
Yet not
What does it need?
Something.
Anything?
Or nothing