My soul is ink, spilling out rambles page by page
You'd be amazed by how intricate a sonnet can be
I want to scream when I read a work I should have wrote
When my passion is mediocre and doesn't measure up

This artworks not a business, its a way of life from hell
This artwork just might be a sickness, writing about my state of mental health
Which isn't much, my prescriptions talk
And still I'm not okay
I'm writing whose to blame
My triggers much the same

Writing is sex, making love
Ejaculating words, sometimes causing birth
to tremendous works, life it instills
Sexual thrills.

...SaintNHB...