Notebook Copebook

I often come back to my notebook...
It always beckons, pulls me in.
My pencil, by my side, never separate;
Confidante to every whisper within.

I'm lost in my words, in my thoughts,
Like a sea of menacing voices.
The pencil, a buoy, -a voyeur,
And I, the translator of noises.

My paper, now tainted with chaos,
Like the saltwater burning my eyes.
All my fears scribbled down and defeated.
Still, distracted by darkening skies.

I can't manage to shake my ghosts,
Nor the doubts I somehow conspire.
I'm stuck in these wire-bound pages,
While the ink spreads around me like fire.

I'll drown in the waves of my writing,
Let the current curve around each letter.
All my thoughts and my doubts, raging rapids,
And then it's done and it stops and I'm better.