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As I reach for the pen…

Something begins to creep over me…

It’s a steady chill that runs the course of my veins…

And with each stroke that i take…
My hand is stung by indistinct inhibitions…

Then the words that i have written on paper…
Have ceased to be defined by their meaning…

i’m not quite sure how to explain it…
But its a strange feeling that i can’t seem to put my finger on…

I guess that it could be one of a couple of things…

But nevertheless…
I shouldn’t let it get ahead of me…

Even if the pressure way too much to handle…
I shouldn’t forget to screw around the bush every once in a while…

‘Coz bearing the weight of a pen isn’t a fun task…

So i guess that i should get it over with…
And finish the crap that i have started…

And though my piece’s form and style may be indiscriminate…
My point lies in its completion…

Picking out the right words for a great piece is too much a bother…
And writing in itself is such a hassle…

So what defines a piece as a masterpiece?!

Simple…

It’s something done with a better reason than…

“For compliance’s sake…” Ü