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"Reflex" by Eric Wayne Flynn

Updated on April 3, 2014



Jumping out of a hot bath

Dripping ink all over the floor

Running to my room and shutting the door

Beethoven is here, he can see my baton

Waving back and forth

Creative tool

Stuck to my bed

Buckets from my head

Onto the canvas

Where I make love

To myself


Smelling the roses

Scent; the strongest sense tied to memory

I plug my nose so I don't smell shit

Feet on my throat but this dog don't quit

Tugging on my pants, growling

Im an artist you can find me at midnight, in moonlight, howling

A boy crying



Cowards afraid to kill the king

Cuz they'd be killing themselves

Our roles, our souls

Acting the part

I've been writing my own script from the start

Always in pre or post production

Trying to give my best performance for my audience of one


For stimulus

My automatic instinct

To kick in


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    • Eric Flynn profile image

      Eric Wayne Flynn 3 years ago from Providence, Rhode Island

      Thanks Jodah, what you've said here is spot on. I appreciate the word "impact", I like that word. I'm going to use it soon.


    • Jodah profile image

      John Hansen 3 years ago from Queensland Australia

      Your words have such 'impact' Eric. You truly sound like a tortured artist, relying on reflex and instinct to write whatever pops into your head and feels satisfying to you. Ultimately we have to please ourselves before anyone else. Well done.

    • Eric Flynn profile image

      Eric Wayne Flynn 3 years ago from Providence, Rhode Island

      You called it Jamie, that's how they happen for sure. Thanks for the kind words as always.


    • jhamann profile image

      Jamie Lee Hamann 3 years ago from Reno NV

      I love how your poems feel so in the moment, that these are the thoughts that the narrator is battling with. I like it. Jamie