Why do I pick the pen
Over words already written
I write when I'm depressed
I write when I feel blessed
When I feel like the biggest buck
When my days are full of lacking luck
Then I come home and find my pen
And wonder what my mind will thread
Will I write of what I'll never be
Or of a scenic view of leaves and trees

Most of my words you'll never see
For I've written them at times of need
For friends, for love, for anything but
The voice is lurking, forcing me shut
I greet the darkness inside my head
Just to cover sheets in ink or lead
"Away from life, away from peace
Never can you turn and flee
I've never really been as kind
To pick a mortal out of their line
Their line of lust, of meekful grind
Now come to me, take this and sign
You'll do just fine, now serve your time
Your soul now mine, so write this rhyme!"

I listen to it's shrilling voice
My once dry...