Writing Just to Write

Writing just to write.
Because of the peacefulness at night.
Because everything been done before
Because I'll forget where I'm from by 4-
in the morning in the silence of an empty bottle of wine
A bunch of scribbles and sketches crossed out with lines.
This is fine.
Let me sit and pretend I care.
Pretend I have motivation to organically prepare
The best damn story that girl ever read,
Like a tree in her head that perpetually sheds
The same source of light that can make her smile.
That would let me escape this pathetic denial
Of all of these things that I push away.
There's no use! It's been done! I would say.