Is this the part where I admit I have a problem?
Well at least a slight one, when it comes to poetry
Since it's all I ever think about
It's all I feel I need

There is never a situation
Where I'm not thinking of what next to write
You never know when the moment will hit you
Those perfect words needed to inspire

And the degree of concentration
When all of this occurs  
As I pour my entire heart, mind, and soul
Into every written word

Just ask friends and family who left me
That I didn't even notice they were gone
Until days later when I looked up
From the writing of another poem

I could be inside my house
With the four walls burning down
Concentrating on my creating
The next poem to astound

As I'm pounding out the verses
With firemen pounding on the door
I'll answer it eventually
Let me just jot down one line more

They could set off the big one
Wipe out half of the country
I'd be so intent on writing
I would barely feel the breeze

Yes, the world could collapse around me
And I would see nothing wrong
With my face pressed to the page
Writing down another poem

Even if I keeled over suddenly
From a major heart attack
I'm sure on my way to the funeral
I'd try and find a word to rhyme with that

So tell me do you think I have a problem?
When it comes to poetry?
When I even write a poem about it?
So others can enjoy the read