My fever is growing stronger and I'm feeling rather faint
I can see the walls are moving like dancers in the paint!
They cartwheel and turn as they soar through the air
I wonder how they do it but all I do is stare
The clock is ticking madly and soon it starts to chime
I think I'll probably turn this into another crazy rhyme
I appear to be creative but I'm really rather ill
In fact I'm only typing by sheer force of will
My eyes are actually closing as my fingers tap along
It seems my love for poetry is really rather strong!
But before I slip away to sleep I must complete this work
I'm afraid my need for excellence might be my only
" The world taught me to hate. Life taught me to love."
" Eh, if I don't think my writing is good I'll never know how good I am. I think it's better that way."
" Few people ever respond to my comments without lashing out at me. I don't think I can respond to anything but an argument. It's a sad world, I think."
" I've never seen a tree die of natural causes. Does that make them immortal?"
" People aren't perfect. I can't think of you as perfect, because you have flaws like everyone else. I just need to learn to accept and grow to love your flaws."