Happy poetry day!

I cannot pen everything down

I cannot pen everything down

Writing, mellow strategy to cope; at times turns to be a catastrophe

I contend a sea of bubbling gloom, but always run out of ink

My brain deliquesces; burnt wax of wrecked mind flowing down my hands with scorching heat. 

The golden giddiness, the drastic debacle, the salty sickness, the mournful mundane, the eerie ecstasy, the boring buzz, the simple sadness, the sluggish Sundays, the blossoming blissfulness, the distinct dwelling, or the quiet quietus. 

I cannot pen everything down.