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