the feeling will never leave me alone

to write,just to write alone
was like rum is to the drunks quench
 or like climax is to the sexually addicted,
then as the reign of heat beside a burning log
so was this fire kindled, just by writing

to write,not with intense vocabulary,
the complex words i knew them few
but simple syllables i knew them a lot
and yes,like those thirsty for blood,then killing
i felt the slake more than blood quenched theirs

to write,that feeling by a book
and ink that pours the expression of emotion
that feeling alone was enough inspiration,
then i start by one letter,then two
and let the spirit of the ink bewitch me