The Thing About Writing
 

You’ll find my life,

Inside a book that cannot whisper.

If there’s one thing I’d say,

It would be with my pen upon the paper.

The one thing I’d write,

Haunts me during the night.

While darkness is eating you,

Light will be leaving you.

Your sorrow laid out on the page,

Writing things that you could never say.

Files are unorganized inside your own brain,

What a mess is this pain.

A writer writes to keep sane,

For the files are sorted as ink starts to stain.

Is there any other possible way?

The pain will lurk, the pain will stay.

But writing will always keep it at bay.