Bloodshot eyes in the gleam of light

Tears dancing in the dead of night

Cramped hands and a sore back

An obsession that doesn’t lack

A piece left of the soul

That is the end goal

O the madness of writing it knows no bounds

A piece of paper fed to the hounds

Writing is a madness

To keep away the sadness

O how we despise writing

Till the words come a biting

A masterpiece in the works

A voice inside that lurks

No stopping till we finish the story

In hopes that there will be glory

In exhaustion we do not stop

Till we rise to the top

O what a joy to have written

To have the readers be smitten

Till the time comes again

We must retire to our den