More Words That Make My Fingers Hurt

I pick it up, I put it down, I start to write, but never end, it's never enough, the words are tough, I break when I should bend. Perhaps my will is weak, perhaps I don't know how to fight, perhaps I only battle, when the wrong feels so right. My enemy is endless thought, like a sub conscience need to feed, up goes the pen, down go more words, until my fingers cramp and bleed.