Why are you writing?
Doesn’t the normal way of waking
Keep you satisfied?
I tell myself to stay true
Are you even listening?
The stars still glisten
Writing are you? Why?
Would this of been said
Otherwise?
I keep closing my eyes
To open them again
I am true
But nothing gold can stay
Churchgoers sleep on Sunday
Why are you still left with
Something to write?
Doesn’t the world want to put up a fight?
Blood spills bright under country light
I remember fragile innocence
Could this be part of it?
I tell myself biblical tales
Of freedom, kings, and paradise
Falling asleep
Under a mass of stars
But no-thing dying is bound to live
Are you sick of writing?
Doesn’t the demons weigh you down,
Give you the runaround?
I keep questioning the day
Are we really here
Torn by fear?
I tell myself to keep writing
To wake abnormal
Satisfied