Writing

Writing, writing, writing, writing, writing, writing,

Letters, numbers all become the same,

I may become insane, just to see if I’m sane.

The letters belittle me with smug smiles.

Torn and screwed up pages in piles.

The blank space on my page is my enemy,

I have won the battle but not the war.

Bemoaning simple perplexities is my awe.

The booze helps.

© Alex Turner 2015