I write until empty and….Use me up. Ask me for more, and I’ll write until empty.

I’ll write only for you, because you want it that way. I’ll write until my fingers bleed.

Because you love it, I’ll write things only for you.

Because you have crept into me, you are clutching, grappling, grabbing so tightly and won’t go away.

Use me up. Beg me for more, and I’ll write until empty. I’ll write until my fingers bleed, until my imagination is dead.

You are clutching, grappling, grabbing so tightly and won’t go away.

Don’t ever let go, I don’t want it that way. I want and need that clutching tightness, because it makes me feel needed, because I need to feel loved again.

It makes me feel like existing…like the world suddenly isn’t so dark.

So I write until empty for you. I write to, perchance, see a smile, to imagine that you swoon me and need me.

I write to enchant–but not just for them–for you. I write because it affects you so, and that affects me so. You affect me so, I write for the chance to display my emotions.

I write for the option to have that connection with you.

I write with hopes you will fall in love with me again. I write for me, I write for them, but right now, I write for you.

Use me up. Ask me for more and I’ll write until empty.