Twenty Five Sentences, Wiped Away

I ought to stop neglecting myself. 
I go through these whirlwind phases where
They don't care if I am part drunk, part sad, they don’t care if I am all dressed up with a destination. 
The words come to me and I fumble for a pen, an eye liner, a cocktail napkin or my palm. 
I stumble with the touch screen of my phone so I can create a note to get the words out of me. 
They come, the words, they come to me in phases. 
During these phases I am on top of them. 
I encourage them, at all the weird times, 
But then I start neglecting myself, I throw away the pen, spill a drink and use the napkin so wipe it all away. 
I write twenty five sentences just to erase them, sometimes I cannot look at them. 
They become a mirror, reflecting how I am feeling, and sometimes 
I ought to stop neglecting myself. 
These words, my words. 
They won't let me. 
They let me forget sometimes, but they don't let me go.

I am on top of the world. 
The words come to me in the middle of the night, in the middle of a good song, always in the middle. 
want them at all the right times. 
I just don't want to know how I am feeling anymore.