There are desperate words deep inside my chest

They claw their way out through my ribs and flesh

And they flow through my blood veins to my fingertips

They take control of my hand and make me grip a pen

The words clamor at the metal tip for a taste of ink

The pen touches pure paper, and the words slide out

They cover the page in a wave of black on white

Poetry, philosophy, sentences simple and complex

Dancing on the paper in black liquid, shining wet

Soon the page is full and another is fetched to start again

A bittersweet ache is at home in my writing hand

The flow of words ebb, gliding out with tired strokes

Satisfied, they release their hold and the pen drops away

The words are branded on their pages and there they stay

However, new words will soon start building inside my chest

Begging, hot and stinging, as they writhe behind my ribs

Desperate to be let out