Thoughts caused a storm in my head.
Begging to be released as I lay in my bed.
Unable to control my thoughts, I went insane.
I'm not like an artist, drawing doesn't relieve the pain.
What relieves the horrible pain is writing.
Writing a poem or a story is so tempting and inviting.
I get out of bed, and sit down in my comfy chair.
Breathing in the great fresh air.
Grabbing my writing paper and a new pen.
Feeling safe and sounds in my special den.
My clouded thoughts unleash ink on the paper.
The only source of light next to my desk is a tall taper.
Writing always makes it easier for me to think.
Parched from this sleepless night I grab a drink.
Writing, the problems in my head disappears.
My mind working like clean oiled gears.
On the last line of this new poem.
I might celebrate with some new jeroboam.
Putting the pen away, I make sure the poem is in a safe place.
So no one will ever see it's mysterious face.
I lay down drowsily in my comfy bed.
In minutes, I sleep like i'm dead.
