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,
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©