Anatomically

If you were to remove my tongue,  
I would still have  
The pen and the inkwell.  

Ontologically

If you were to take out my tongue,  
And the pen from my hand,  
I would still think, feel, and live my poetry.  

Ethically

If you were to tear out my heart,  
What use would I have  
For the pen and the inkwell?

I hear the creaking of a door in my mind.
I couldn't help but feel inclined,
To look behind,
And see what I might find.

But I did not think,
that it would be my well of ink.
I couldn't help but make a link,
To an old kitchen sink.

When I saw that inkwell,
I needed to quell,
The fear that fell,
Upon me as my very own barbell.

I knew what it mean,
And that it was not its intent,
To torment,
But I wish that it would relent.

So I could just spend,
Sometime to amend,
And apprehend,
The part of me that has reached a dead end.