Drafts

Myriad thoughts,
Most of them
Stuck right there,
In my throat,
Just short of breaking out,
In words;
Held back,
Like the repressed violence
Of my dreams,
A split second
Before I open my eyes.
That's right-
A part of me is but the sum of
All the drafts,
That still lie half-written
In some corner of my account.