Quill pen to parchment paper,
Scratchin' thoughts, itchin' for a savior.
No minds to bleed through me,
I'm all on my own, bled thoroughly.
I'm on the chopping block,
I need writers shock,
Therapy for the insane.
Asylum for the migraine.

Find me a place of leisure,
Squashing thoughts, twitchin' like a seizure.
No pencils left to chew,
No ink left to spew,
Prophetic failings,
Crucifixive nailings,
Stigmata of the thought,
Thorns of the crown.
Last edited by maddd0g at Oct 2, 2009,
Please go read the rules. They explain what to do if you want comments, and bumping your piece isn't it.

You can re-post this piece tomorrow keeping the rules in mind.