Why do I do

When do the birds start singing, and when do the crickets creak,

When do the voices silence, and when do the words desist.

I spend this whole life trying, and thinking with distress,

I spend this whole night writhing, with pangs upon my chest.

Why do the words attack me, why do they always do,

Why do the words defeat me, why do they see me through.

The words cost more than paper, the lines which I abhor,

The point of writing blogs is, to show that you are more.

What is it to this thinking, why am I so obsessed.

What is it to this writing, that keeps me from the rest.

Why do the words amuse me, why do I see them through,

Why do they all just use me, why do they write them too.

When do I do my thinking, when do I do my thought,

When can I do the blinking, and why can’t I just jot.

– Thomas M. Watt


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