Im Sooo Misterunderstood's blog: "rantnravings of a man gone mad"

my knuckles I crack , a new contract is written, dated, and signed, every three months, I must renew or, or lose this life of mine, a agreement with death now has me , its quite the proverbial pickle , better and better I must continue to grow, or feel the sting of his sickle , but why me I wonder , all I asked was the chance, to have a gift, to spread joy, bring smiles, to the faces of friends, perhaps give there spirits a lift, and for this talent he bestowed on me, what he asked me in return, to write for him four times a year , and that brought to me no concern, such a small task for the treasure he gave, or so I thought you see, but writing good enough to keep death entertained , is quite a big job for me, if I bore him just once , or repeat a subject , just one single time, this all could end oh so abruptly, my life is on the line, a muse I must find , some story untold , by me or any other, I switch subjects so often to keep death off my tail , I have no time for my lover, and I miss her so, and my family as well , but no time to regret choices made, he comes soon, and I have nothing ready , the pressure has me so afraid, someone help me , make a deal that will take, his attention off me for a while, to entertain friends is easy enough , but to make the dark one smile, is becoming impossible, I can see an end coming , it doesn't look good for me, I deal with the deal, soon to be his next meal , oh how oh how could this be!!! three more months have came to pass , it's time again to earn my keep, make good with the words, and rhymes, and such , or like some mutt be put to sleep, writers block is not a fitting phrase, so we will call it coroners cube, control I have lost, I am unhinged, unhitched, falling apart, unglued, and the dark one isn't just coming , he stands behind me as I try to fill, this page with some poem, or limerick, or something, but perhaps I should be typing my will, though sound mind part, I probably won't add , for I myself have doubts, in the past I've studied all I can about life, trying to learn all the ins and outs, and today my lesson be happy with who you are, and what you already own, I wish I would have learned this long ago, but how could I have known, that my wish to be great, a simple wish to write, would one day lead to my doom, I wanted just wanted to publish a book or three, not invite DEATH to my room, and he is hear a bit early it seems to me, but who am I to tell, the great grim reaper how to read a calender, I am already scared as hell, and I have nothing written except what you see here , my fear will cost me my soul, and I am ready to face him I yield I quit, I relinquish total control, as I turn my chair before I can say , allow me to get my coat, I see a swirling dark twister he has left me to be , in one big puff of smoke, either I amused him with the calender line, or he realized he WAS a bit ahead, either way I care not you see , it's another day I am not dead,