The Crazymad Writer, that’s me, you see,
A brain in chaos, a wild decree.
My thoughts, a whirlwind, a tangled yarn,
A literary tempest in a barn.
The words they tumble, they leap, they fly,
A frantic stampede beneath the sky.
A comma here, a semi-colon there,
A frantic dance on the brink of despair.
I write of dragons with spectacles perched,
Of teacups singing, for them I’ve searched.
Of socks that vanish, a mystery grand,
Of polka-dot elephants in the land.
Why do I do it? The mad, mad scrawl?
It’s either that, or climb the wall!
The stories bubble, they must break free,
Lest I become a footnote in history.
So forgive the frenzy, the ink-stained hand,
The logic lost on this scribbling land.
It’s not a choice, it’s a desperate need,
To plant this crazy, literary seed.
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 