I swear, I think that my poetry may end up killing me someday. Or at least, it'll lock me into a small padded room.
Why?
Most of my poetry is obsession-based. It takes root in my brain, then refuses to let go until I either take the time to fully explore why it's there, or it lets go with some semblance of grace after time progresses. (Plot bunnies have got absolutely nothing on poem-butterflies, by the way. *snarl*)
Some is.. cathartic. These are full of pain, emotion, or memory. Getting them out makes me feel better (most of the time) and let me get on with my life.
This one... Feels like both. It's driving me nuts, honestly. I can't quite publish it yet, because it's not 'finished', nor can I fully scrap it. So it sits in limbo, taunting my skills as a writer, because it's not up to my usual standards. And it pokes and prods my subconscious into mind-boggling dreams.
It will get published on here eventually. Just... not quite yet, damnit.