With paper and pen in hand
the smoothness of the ink
bleeds through

The ground base of my work
is you
my audience

You're feedback is crucial
like water is to my veins.
Every thought and opinion
is heard on my eyes

I write for me
and to entertain my readers,
how many few there are
out there.

I sometimes question
why I feel obligated to write
As if my life depends
on every word

Why do I write about things
no one dares think about?

My passion swells and drains
these characters
and I feel as if
no one cares
if it is both
my life and death

What more do I have to give
than these poetic stanzas
I now am writing

My collection has grown fast,
a thing I thought would be impossible.
How foolish for me to say.

But now it is time for me to put down
this writing utensil of mine.

Hopefully it wouldn't be too long
for it to start writing
once again