A poem entitled Dark Inspiration


Dark Inspiration

Two a.m. is for writers

When the world sleeps

Our souls come alive

And we are forced under threat of anguish

To obey the demons inside

The ones with the silver tongues

That croon write, write, write

We are puppets on strings

And they laugh as

They make us dance

In the real world

Knowing that

We will always come back

Because there is nothing like the way these words feel

The highest of highs

They are silver in our veins

We take our injection with a smile

And grin at the pain

Some call it talent

We call it obsession

We ignore the world and commit

Unspeakable transgressions

Because the birth of words

Is an abomination in the form of a scream

It haunts our dreams

It lowers our self esteem

With each crumpled ball of paper

We are convinced we have failed

Upon the cross we hang

In our palms are nails

Yet it is worth it

For every page that we save

Every syllable that lets our heart beat

For each adjective we would gladly bleed

Writing is not art it is lunacy

It is the madness of staying hidden

Only to crave to be seen

So call to me demon and I will obey

Be it sickness or genius

I love my blood on this page

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