3 September 2012
Eyes frozen open,
Words bursting from this pen.
Inspiration running low,
But words still seem to flow.
What should I write about?
From the roof tops I shout!
A single flower?
A beast of mighty power?
I love story,
Turned wonderfully gory?
Eyelids weigh a hundred pounds.
But I'll still go a few more rounds.
Writing is a drug,
But not the kind that turns you into a thug.
Writing • Opuss № I