I need some paper, all I have is skin—
and skin won’t win the battle raging here
between the words and mental blocks within
my head. Why don’t I have some paper near?
Why is my pen not ready for the flood
I hope will come? It’s missing. I lost it.
I lost it with my mind when I felt blood
drip, drip, and smear the crimes I could commit.
It is all I can do to keep my head
and not let loose the beast I hid away.
I fear my muse, its urge to try on dead—
a fashion trend whose price I cannot pay.
Let’s see how well my boring story flips
when I’ve got murder on my fingertips.