Bad Poetry...
It's a nasty habit
Its ***** and filthy
Words crawling under
  your skin like roaches
   scavenging in the night
Ink splatters into the Illusion
  of sanity and clarity on the pages
    of chaos and confusion
We all think we know what we're
  doing we all think we're in control
Clicking our pens, dipping our nibs
  in ink, scratching out letters to form
   thoughts to describe dreams to take us
     away
Away to our secret little corners
Our coffee shops, our street side cafés
Hiding in plain sight
Being nasty and ***** and filthy
Just waiting to feel our habit start to
  crawl in and out and all over
So we can write some more
   bad poetry