My Addiction

Everyone says I need to take a break,

A breather, let it go, relax for a second,

but I can't can't can't

let this go when the voice inside my head

is reminding me I'm running out of time and greatness is slipping from my fingertips.

I'm starting to fear

my passion has become my addiction

i crave a fix of creativity but there's none to be found so withdrawal runs through my veins
and the words that used to be beautiful now just seem to bleed dirty brown
they drip from my nose and mouth like theyve been rejected never to be anything but evidence of mental decay

perhaps stability isn't what I need because it seems like this pressure in an otherwise

satisfactory existence

just isn't producing the same results as when I was all alone.

Maybe the best artists really are the tortured souls,

So I have to ask myself what I'm going to have to give up

To get back what I've lost.