Word Apnea Poem by Phil Soar

I sometimes look at all the world
Through my bloody eyes
The white in them a light crimson
Suggesting I am tired and need sleep

I try to keep thinking of ways to express myself
The ideas struggle to force their way through
and yet, when they do, my fingers dance
And the keys on the laptop are those on a piano

They dance to the tune of my thoughts
Flashing through a dictionary stored internally
Sometimes at a pace that scares me
But when done,
So am I