To write or not to write?

My right hand writes, and having written, writes on.

Another word, another bed for my thoughts that drift on.

To stay and create,

To think and wait,

It's like painting a story,

Romantic or gory?

Poking holes in my head,

Things that I've read,

Things that I've said,

Writers now dead,

Thoughts feel like lead,

Weighing me down,

Thorns on a crown,

Linking up the threads,

I write and I write,

And I'll write and I'll write,

Until this life I have shed.