It is when the pen is flowing,
The soft resistance of paper –
Teasing but yielding at your touch –
Is crazingly addictive.
When your hand tingles,
Fingertips itching to pour out your brain;
The satisfaction burns warm,
Glowing from your chest to flutter the heart.
This is the moment you come back to,
Where it seems insane that you would not turn,
Spin graspingly for your pen,
Regardless of time, day or pain
Because this is what you are:
The addiction you were born to submit to.