With a pen and a paper,
I draw up my mind on a sheet.
With words and a few favours,
Would love to have someone by my seat.
There's not much to guess,
Not too much to either impress.
Just a few life stories,
And some other chaotic glories.
There's no other than a writer,
Who weaves words just like a designer.
Beautifying these written pieces like an artist,
I'm in my comfort zone, who needs a therapist?
It's not a lot to describe about,
Just grab a paper and let that thought shout.
For most people it's just another piece,
But for some, these are their weaponry as well as their shield.
The more you dig deeper,
The more you find meaning to it.
And to the writer with a tint of liquor,
It becomes another squeeze of life bit.
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