The Four W’s of the Apocalypse, Variation 1

I wanted to write a poem
Purple, as none I’ve ever written
Flowery, like the banks of the Stream-of-Consciousness
 (I already tried but I’m not sure how it went)
I heard a song this morning, one of my favorites-
That’s why I wanted to write a poem.
Then I read another Poet’s musings, and I thought “Fuck, mine will never be this good.”
 (And it isn’t, at least not yet)
For one thing, do I even experience emotion when I write these things? Or is it an exorcism?
Research. The answer is, it’s just homeopathic medicine.
If I write about all the situations and emotions I don’t understand…
 (What? And then what?)
And why can I see souls?
I just want someone to understand me, but nobody is psychic, and all I have is a blank page and an ability
To change white pixels into black pixels into lines and curves and hopes
 (A hope is just a thing you probably can’t have)