I can’t sing

Or dance

Or play the drums

But I can write

I’ll write till there’s blood on the pages

Tears in my eyes

Pencil is broken

Shaking in my sighs

There’s no paper left

I’ll write about you more

On the walls

On the windows

Even on the floors

When I’m done writing

No more rhymes to be rhymed

I still have more to say

More of Jacob’s latters have to be climed