I should be at a party but my pen dances across this page. Eyes follow and drink in my thoughts. I sweat my life through this ink. Sometimes I doubt I make the right moves. My teeth grind with the anticipation of my next piece. I wish I could turn on a light bulb.
I should be at a bar but I am busy picking up lines from the grab bag that is my mind. I use them to drive a point home. Friends hit on my door but I am too busy swatting away this Spanish fly to hear their complaints.
I should be at an orgy but I can only listen to the sentences thrusted into my head over and over again until a good one comes to me. The tip of my pen seduces this page and there is little I can do to break its spell.
I should be anywhere but here but my writing always travels from left to right, my words leaving you to hang while I run out of time.
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