Stars and Bars

I use to think, I could eat on poetry

I had to move on to do other things

every night I was awaken by this aching

it was my heart, it was braking

torn apart, for splitting up with my passion

the fire went out inside of me

no matter how much I drank

it could not quinch the drought

nor could I figure out, why

I was so lonely and empty inside

I had to write like a smoker, needs a smoke

I had to write like someone with OCD

straitening a painting on a wall

I had to write like a prayer warior

need to pray, I had a pen and I had to

pen my way through, what I was going through

like taking a shovel and tunneling through

only if but once, to see the light

I always knew was there