Broken Pens and a Legal Pad

I woke up with horse sweat still in my busted knuckles and 3 am hangover breathe.
No sun yet.
I found notes and a tune but lost my words.
Maybe I wrote because I didn't have time for shit to be real.
Perhaps all my cooped up emotions got bled out of a broken purple pen like bruises on a yellow legal pad.
Left there.
You probably noticed the sudden scarcity of ramblings.
They got lost behind forbidden statements.
Forgotten thoughts.
I always promise to tell you someday.
Foolish I suppose.
I told myself I'd stand up; change.
Do something.
Maybe.
Last night I listened to a horse ease in and puff breathes out onto my skin.
I spend everyday with their mane in my fingers and a leg on either side, yet I never even listen to them breathe.
I want to watch a sunset, wake up early, steal a kiss.
Just live.
No more empty promises on replay, a broken record skipping like an old name did off my lips.

And maybe with a little luck I'll be a bit less of a strung out writer, make a little more sense.

XoXo, Gussie