Contributor: Mike Gosses

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Enough with the constant pacing and tapping of your fingers,
the late nights spent in the company of blank screens and bloodshot eyes,
the endless futile formulations,
enough shouting at me with reeking breath,
love, just write.

I’m tired of being your maid,
cleaning up as you doze on your desk,
filing away the same scribbled pages each day,
only to hear about how tough you have it,
please, just write.

Another bottle down,
this time left to rot in whatever pile of success you've got,
left along with all your letters addressed to me,
written in red and left at the bottom of every bottle,
just write.

I wish I could feel sorry for you,
as you light a match and drop it in the trash,
incinerating every promising idea you once had,
but I’ve long since abandoned my keys on your bed,
why won’t you just write?


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