One, two, and three

Irony and a simile

Fulfill that humanly desire

To go and sin; to be a liar

 

Three, four and five

Make up stories and just dive

Right into the life I wish I lived

But that satisfaction is short-lived

 

Six, seven, and surely eight

Words express my greatest fate,

All my fears of their rejection,

And the fear of no affection

 

Nine, ten, and eleven

Being compared to a legend

Shakespeare or maybe even Poe

Preying on my deepest, darkest foes

 

 

The art of writing holds no boundaries

And imagination knows no bounty

I can write whatever I please

And become completely at ease