Why Did That Writing Bug Choose Me Part Two

>What is that bugs doing to me. Already this is page three. And midnight looms as I can see. My large clock hands moving on the wall. Ticking life away each night. Like now when I have to write. I did not write in the day-to-day. That writing bug must have been asleep. Or did it at someone else, then peep? Alas now I know, it must have slept. As now I see, it's wide awake inside of me. I'm now awake for all to see. What's that writing bug's doing to me. Writing all the night you see. Nothing special, does it write tonight. Simple, small words, it does write. My life's complicated enough, you know. I think I'll stop and dictate to Dragon, so. All of you on poetry soup will know. Where your writing, bug did go. When it's not inside of you, you know. It is inside of blinking me. Lodging here, for blinking free. And that's the truth, I'm telling thee. And as the times now, a quarter past two. Will tell you what I'm going to do. Closed my eyes try to sleep. Not open them, not try to peep. And then, with luck. That writing bug, inside my head. Might think I am really dead. And take its leave from my head Then I can rest my head and fall asleep instead. Of-writing-all-night-like-I-said. Stanley (The mad Author)<