The Words

It used to be the words dripped off my pen like honey,
now it seems they're only in it for the money,

They come and go as they please,
proving to be no more than a tease,

At times they'll disturb my sleep,
coming on in torrents that appear too deep,

Moved by the fear that I may drown,
I reach for a pen to write them down,

Then I get the feeling that they're only using me,
waking me from my sleep to set them free.

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