Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

we are made of words
is there any jazz left
but there are words left
we have not done yet
i never figured out how to write
i just skipped that part
i just decided to make art
and live my life like it mattered
i would move in with a word
and share my thoughts with it
the word would listen to me
waiting for me like a true friend
to say its name even if it was wrong
waiting for me like a lover or a bird
there was a endless period of silence
before i could even get the damn thing out
it was like having to shit and vomit
it was like pulling out my finger nails
it was like taring out my hair
i walked the floor endless days and nights
but it had to come out from its hide hole
it had to come from some where

I feel that jazz has gone. I like the theme and art of this poem.