the pen seems to crash onto the table.
her tired hand shaking finds it way under the pillow....
no sleep for days as she has been putting it all down.
as if not to be able to stop.
everything she sees, everything she hears, and everything she does,
inspires riddles and rhymes to flow from inside.
its a gift...

some people say she has talent.
some people say she is good...
but they don't understand the insanity of an unstoppable mind.
inspiration they call it...
she laughs and it is unnerving...
inspiration...no...

she explains that someone has turned the volume to full blast
on every single one of her senses.
beauty is more beautiful and smells are much sweeter
and sadness cuts deeper and pain is.....
unbearable.

a line or two in her head
repeats over and on until she puts it down.

but she cannot stop at just one line or two,
no the words keep coming and before long she has filled a page.
the mistake she makes is rereading
for one line she wrote in her comatic fury
will start the dance all over again.
and she writes....and she hopes....
she can sleep a bit before she is again
plagued by a drive, a desire, a need
to write.....