I am sick
I am an addict
I cannot help myself
I sat around the house playing with the kids
Looking at the walls
How can I pass the time
What do I do next ?
beyond depression
lost
I need to get out of my depression
I run for my drugs
I pick up a pen
And start to write another opera
My wife is angered
She says NO
But I cannot help myself
I was born to write
It is the only thing in this world that makes me feel alive
The act of that instantaneous creation
The ink flowing off the pen
An new idea that never was
The adrenaline rushes into my veins like a junkie
The drug kicks in
I get off
If I do not write
I drown
It is as simple as that
I drown
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