One, two, and three
Irony and a simile
Fulfill that humanly desire
To go and sin; to be a liar
Three, four and five
Make up stories and just dive
Right into the life I wish I lived
But that satisfaction is short-lived
Six, seven, and surely eight
Words express my greatest fate,
All my fears of their rejection,
And the fear of no affection
Nine, ten, and eleven
Being compared to a legend
Shakespeare or maybe even Poe
Preying on my deepest, darkest foes
The art of writing holds no boundaries
And imagination knows no bounty
I can write whatever I please
And become completely at ease
© Copyright 2016 AmandaBrookeWrites. All rights reserved.
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