When I go month’s,day’s, week’s without no release.

The ink dried up, and withered away.

The breeze blew, and the paper took flight into the night.

There was no click-clack of the keyboard.

No blinding backlight searing my sight.

The emotion’s biulding, and keep on building.

Splashing at the surface,

Split,

Splat,

Splashing,

Boiling over.

Until it’s pouring, and spilling.

I just can’t fight the urge to write.

It’s simply not a choice, I have not much say in the matter.

Written by: Jamie Whorton©