Poetry Vomit (#39)

Poetry vomit is real,
What a strange sensation to feel,
The words more than just flow,
It’s as if the volcano decided to blow,
I can’t say what causes it, I admit,
I only know when the flame is lit,
It’ll continue until it’s run its course,
And will do so without remorse,
I’ve tried to fight it in the past,
But it’s hard to withstand that blast,
Eventually, my resistance caved,
And I wrote what she wanted- enslaved,
It happens time and time again,
It’s never a matter of if but when,
Should you choose to pen a poem beware,
Once done you’ll be in the Muse’s snare,
From there it’s only a matter of time,
Before you’re penning for her full-time.

Any Thoughts?

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