If I listen to my love, turn it into a life’s work,
To toil at it day and night, all the time,
Forgoing food, drink, bath, sex, other people,
Those beautiful distracting pleasures,
Lay down power over countless hours,
Am I therefore a workaholic?
Or am I addicted to love,
And what I love instead?
Crazy enough not to stumble into doing something,
That I would love to complain, hate, about,
Unable to wait, simply live off the weekend,
A warrior but my armour isn’t worn part time,
Even if it did entail untold financial fortunes,
To my obsessed mind it would feel like,
For the torture I would have to endure.