I commit to these words,
let my thoughts fly like birds.
I can't seem to quit,
so here I sit,
writing out rhyme,
seems like I do it all the time.

I don't profess to be a poet,
but I love rhyming and I know it.
All I want to do is rhyme,
is that such a crime?
Out of this whole world equation,
rhyming words gives me an elation.

I rhyme in my sleep,
after I pray my soul to keep.
I'll be rhyming in my grave,
this art has made me a slave.
I don't mind commiting,
it doesn't seem like I'll be quitting.

One time I tried to quit,
but the truth finally hit.
Hit me like a hammer,
I'm a word junkie slammer.
I've got to serve my ink,
I'm a man that don't drink.

When times get hard,
and lifes rips me apart.
I reach for my pen,
instead of the alcohol sin.
Some people drink,
other people ink.

Blink!

G