Addiction

It is an addiction we fulfill
Because as trees, we can't
stop reaching for the sky
as children we can't
give up on getting older
as dreamers we do not
let go of hope,
we cling to every last bit of barren string
fruitless demeanor's pouring onto our face and still
we run on
like sentences unpunctuated ,
always striving into the
inevitably
wrecking,
blinding lights of solitude
for hours bubbling our lives over our edges
and onto the blank sheets of innocence
waiting to be defiled with our words
filled with our intricacies
-our elusive tendencies
Because as a writer you caress your anger
with pens
and paper