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.