He is a writer
Scrambling for paper
The moment he is inspired
Asking for second opinions
On whether his words fit
His ideas travel lightspeed
So he strays a bit
Crumbled ideas by the bed
He worries they're no good
But, that's just what the voices said
He's his own worst critic
He had a breakthrough
But he just cant fit it
Into the small setting that he placed
Worry sickens his face
All this hard work
But nothing to show
He didn't see this coming
Just a few weeks ago
He scrapped it all
It was tainted
He tries too hard to face it
See, there is nothing wrong
Not from the start
My love,
Your words are such art
My rambling writer
My paranoid poet
You made the patches of your story
Point your pen
And sew it