Asylum for Lost Words

Thomas W Case



There must be
a place where forgotten words go.

A hiding place,
dark and damp.

Not fire.
Not judgment.

Just pages
that won’t open,
ink that vanishes mid-thought,
sentences that lose their way,
slipping off into a cave
where they gather
with metaphors and similes
like men too drunk
to make it home.

Whole lines wander out
into a subterranean world
and never come back.

If they escape far enough,
they don’t return as language anymore,
just noise that smells like despair
and stagnant pond water,
just dust in the mouth of thought.

When I’m half asleep,
groggy from meds,
the words still waltz in anyway,
uninvited,
twittering in the corners.

The protagonist
scampers off
like a cockroach
under bright lights
and plays jacks
with broken verbs
and concrete nouns.

Sometimes I’m too tired
to catch them,
but I’ve learned to set traps.

An ink pen on the nightstand,
a spiral notebook open and waiting.

A box of number two pencils,
scraps of paper on the desk.

A marker by the coffee pot.
Stacks of clean white paper.

I don’t trust sleep anymore.

Blank page prison,
quiet as a closed door.

And in the morning,
5:30 a.m. on the dot,
I read the evidence
of what tried to get away.

And sometimes
I should have let it.

  • Author: Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: April 19th, 2026 08:21
  • Comment from author about the poem: Just posted a brand-new long-form poetry reading on my YouTube channel! In this session Check it out here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KFGFJcFzKfY My books are also available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Thomas-W.-Case/author/B0CL2RKDGX?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_w=xsU45&content Thank you for reading, listening, and supporting poetry—it means the world!
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 21
  • Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, Friendship, ms.divine, Paul Bell
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Comments +

Comments7

  • Tristan Robert Lange

    Thomas, this carries that restless, late-night energy…like the mind won’t stop producing, even when the body is done. That image of the protagonist slipping away under the light stays with me…how thoughts refuse to be pinned down. I’ve felt that same tension, trying to catch what keeps moving just out of reach. And that closing turn lands perfectly…sometimes it’s better to let them go. Powerful write, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦‍⬛

  • Friendship

    Wow, powerful writing, my friend

  • sorenbarrett

    This sounds so familiar to me Thomas for I do the same and yes feel the same that sometimes I should have let them get away for they were not worth the price of lost sleep.

  • Doggerel Dave

    Those midnight scribbles... Sometimes I have difficulty deciphering my shopping list composed in the full light of day...

  • Paul Bell

    It's a curse of the A.M. Don't know how many times I've said to myself, I'll remember it in the morning, but never do, and Likewise I use paper, now the mobile.
    A few occasions when I've come in hammered, some poems get written that I couldn't remember writing. Strangely enough, they were always warning poems.
    Probably why I don't drink anymore.

  • NafisaSB

    Happens to me too - some words and thoughts popping in when trying to rest, so yes, I too have learnt to keep a pen and paper handy; worst case scenario o just type it on my phone and keep it as a draft to review and keep or discard in the morning 😬

  • NafisaSB

    And yes sometimes they are better if sent scampering



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