• The midnight oil has burned out
    Yet still I am here
    Sitting in the dark.

    Bloody words fall from the pen
    Tearing at my soul
    And fixing my heart.

    The dawn seems so far away
    Not even a glimmer
    Of light on the horizon.

    My mind slowly drifts apart
    But my hand moves
    Frantic and real.

    My innermost self is laid bare
    Writ large in ink
    Simple letters on a page.

    My life's blood spread out
    In sensible patterns
    That become insanity.

    The pen slows its pace at last
    And I collapse
    Drained of it all.

    Each night I die, only to be brought back to life in the morning to write again...