my mind doesn’t rest.

snow flurries of thoughts

and worries

accumulating

even when i ask them to go

away

i think of heartache

of death

of what ifs

or could-bes.

i think

i think

i think

i think

and sometimes

i wish

i wish

i wish

for a world where i don’t feel all of this.

for a quiet mind.

but what if it’s too quiet?

would i miss the loud?

and what about the artists? the poets?

how would i create?

art is chaos in a simpler form

and i’d rather have chaos than quiet.