Poetry, A Punishment

Poetry is the instant punishment, 

Imposed for the sins he made,

Writing is like stabbing the last peaceful brain cell,

That remains alive after one hectic day,

He brings up his blood thirsty words until,

His brain is almost too dead to sleep,

Why should a Poem end?

He leaves this one hanging,

His hands trembling, heart quivering,

Yet this will be his masterpiece, 

For losing his bloody peace.