The end is in sight.
But the editing is a blight.
The words blur by, the black, the red, the white.
This story is a garden that has been tended.
But God damn, I’m tired, exhausted, expended.
How many more rounds do I have to do before it is all ended?
One, five, nine?
After all this hard work, this story better bloody shine.
Then I have to do it again as it is one of many in my creative writing assembly line.