to write for the sake of writings sake
is a curse in its own right
you bleed yourself til words run dry
a cruel mistress of the night

tell me are you happy with your turn of phrase
does it tick all the boxes you've hidden away
when the moon starts to sink and your eyes go to roll
mildew has swept across your very hold

so what's the sake of this story you tell yourself
the one with the prison, and guards, and belt
on this blank page you question the lies you sell
love notes to tomorrow, you think you mean well