Why do you write?

 I write because I can't help myself

it's an itch I must scratch

a craving I want to satisfy

I'd be lost without words

my companions on this journey.

As I read, I need to write,

my mind ticks over at many beats a minute

the brain overflows onto the page

despite the torturous process of giving

my thoughts some logical sense

we are as irrational as hypertext

leaping from one idea to the next

faster than thought, to hand, to page.

Still, I insist on putting pen to paper

I tenaciously grip my pen

even if I have a hundred incomplete ideas

who are all screaming for my attention

submerging myself into my thoughts

it is my meditation

a prayer I say to myself every day

to remind me to be true,

to exist despite every heartbreak.

Words come out from the ether

as if my grey matter is filled

to the brim

with a vocabulary

which needs to be liberated

the words would suffocate themselves

if I didn't write them on the page.

Writing saves my life.