A Writers Torment
Ink pours from my pen like blood from an open wound.
The endless void in my soul that fills daily with words that suffocate my existence.
There is no cure. No pill to take that will manage the words that flood my brain like water through a broken dam.
All I can do is continue to expel the words onto paper to make room for the next flood of literature.
So until I learn to control it I will continue to splatter the blood from my pen and share with others the infection of literary feelings my mind is consumed with.
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