Sometimes my heart writes.
And yes, sometimes it's my brain.
They both write on a paper—creased and plain.
I have no control
Over the logic I unknowingly challenge,
Or the fleetings that leave me emotionally stained.
Conflicts and peace—
Both try to corner each other
In an effort to weave a lovely piece.

Betting chances—
Will it be might over disdain,
Or will create something so lame,
I'll only die with shame.
My nerves are paining in this wistful fight.
They both pen what they feel is right.
Hands, erasing and rewriting verses all the time.
Will I ever be able to complete this endless rhyme?
Stop scuffling with my thoughts—
Just for one single time.