All of my works are "in progress".
None of my words come out right.
My phrases are static, my endings not dramatic.
I need you to turn on my light.

It seems I only know sorrow.
Negative feelings at best.
I've not learned to write what's not said in a fight
But I don't want to give it a rest.

They say an artist must suffer.
Can only make with the pain that she feels.
But you give me no pain; I laugh in the rain.
I want you for all of my meals.

So I guess I will just have to work
And figure out how to write love.
So my words are in progress, my ends have no success
But there's nothing I'd rather write of.