I Can’t Get Away From Writing

Whenever I think I’m out, it pulls me back in.

I didn’t plan to write anything today, but I am. The keyboard compels me without fail. And if not the keyboard, then the pen.

I can’t get away from words. They almost stalk me. They follow me through dark alleys. They follow me in broad daylight.

Belligerent and persistent words.

Flighty and fanciful words.

Clean words.

Dirty words.

Fucking words…

They goad me into arranging them. Like a mad choreographer of prose. They beckon me to create even the most nonsense of statements.

[MODIFIED AT 7:56 PM] Who wants pie?

Baby goats only ride motorcycles under the pale moon in December.

Cats are secretly agents from a distant, cloaked planet somewhere between Jupiter and Saturn.

Stop that, fingers! You’ll make them run.

Oh, they already are. That’s fine.

The words never leave. They only get louder.