The Lunatic Writer

Ah, how he wields his weapon So gracefully yet strong; full of pride Ink drips from the tip like blood The paper, his battle field His mind races and swirls His thoughts pour from his wrist with a flick Oh, how he eyes his creation No one deserves to read such a thing He smiles at his last and greatest piece of art The words devour his mind How shall he end it all? With a lick of his lips he plays God “You all die!” He screams with a maniac’s laugh Yet his creations just stare at him A mocking smile dancing on their lips How dare his creations defy him so mockingly! He is the Omega! A twisted smile forms on his face No matter… He will just have to teach them a lesson In his mind he watches them die Falling to the floor like flies Blood splattering everywhere The sound of a door closing snaps him out of his killing spree Slammed back into reality of a small room Four white walls made of pillows The jacket that hugs you The Lunatic Writer, they call him Driven crazy by his own words But if you truly think about it Aren’t all writers lunatics?