Am I a spinner of thread to weave a cloth of words?
Are my words truths to share, or just my lies?
Is the cloth so made an invisible cover?
If my truths are lies, then what is their worth?

Am I a fisherman dangling worms of words?
Are my words of any use to those who read?
Will my words catch that which I seek?
If my words are useless why should I write?

Am I some vampire fed by my word readers?
Are my words building blocks?
Will I be satisfied with just one feed?
If my words can’t build up why do they exist?

Am I thrusting my woes upon you?
Are my readers helped by these painful words?
Will knowing my woes help my readers with theirs?
If my words don’t help then are they just poisons?

Of only one thing am I truly certain.
These words must be written.
Not held in and hidden.
Else they fade away.