The Ink Pacemaker

I write

Not because it is a joy or a passion

Not because it is cool or a passing fashion

Not because I’m bored and need a past time

I write because I have to or

My heart would stop beating and I would die

Like a pacemaker with no electricity

If I did not lay my thoughts onto paper

And create legendary dreams, who would I be?

My breath would cut short if I did

Not fuel my addiction with words of

Who I am and who I dream to be

I guarantee

My blood would run cold if I decided

No longer was the pen my god and

The paper my salvation

I would know death was coming, so well

I would taste it

Consumed with plans that birth

No progress

Just stillborn dreams and pregnant hopes

To write became a sanctuary that

Depression could not weigh down, a way to

Cope

No amount of money in the world

Can replace my beating heart

Ink runs through my veins

Like cocaine

It’s an unattainable high

And every time

My pen hits paper

Dreams come true and realities meld

Impossibilities happen

And the worlds becomes held

Simple enough

I write to survive

Or a long time ago

I would have died

Life would have devoured me

In one gulp

Needless to say

I would have jumped

I write because

My words became my hopes and

My dreams

 An ability I do not take lightly

I write because one day I will

Change the world

I write because my heart has

Not stop beating yet

Nor with my words, it ever will.