Early Morning Lament - ON WRITING AND RUNNING

A bunch of words pass through me from one ear to the next
I feel I must partake even though I am quite perplexed
Why do these words matter, do they cast a magic spell
They seem to cause insomnia, an increasingly nightly hell
I used to bide my time, I had the ability to recollect
But through the years the synapses misfire and the words won’t resurrect
Nonexistence is looming large, probably sooner than I think
I’d like to write a lot more verses before I reach the brink
At some point the words will stop and my mind will turn to mush
I will no longer have any feelings and my desire will be crushed
So long as words keep flying by and my brain is still willing to work
I will keep writing verses and consider sleepless nights a perk