This 'thing' within my captive soul
Strives toward some heaven or hellish goal.
It forges thoughts inside my brain;
Some enlightening, and some insane.

My mind, my heart are not my own;
This force seeks life for it alone.
My blood its wine, my bones its bread,
It lives and feeds inside my head.

It tortures me both day and night,
Creates the words that I must write.
A marionette, I feel its curse:
It wills the hand that writes this verse.

I, half machine and less a man,
Hold no peace now nor ever can.
I write its word and voice its cry,
And when it dies, I too shall die...