I will write till I run out of ink, jotting down every thought that I think. An idea in mind, is not hard to find, when you start off your book with a drink.
I will rythme all my words like a song, then rewrite all the lines that sound wrong. My pen drops to the beat, as it falls to my feet, on the floor where it doesn’t belong.
I will vomit my words from my tongue, on the paper to show everyone. You’ll delightfully read, all these pieces of me, that I mend and I bend for good fun.