A/N: I'm not dead, I swear! Just a bit inactive because, true story, I have had an actual flood of plot bunnies to the point where it's somewhat crippling. Which brings me to this:

It calls to me
The plot bunny
With its deceptive little smile,
Banishing my writer's block
With a thousand distracting ideas.
My other stories lie abandoned
In a desolate graveyard of wrinkled papers and sidelined dreams.
A new focus, brief and exciting,
Fishing me with ease from reality.
No escape, it clings
Persistently to my skull
Demanding to be noticed,
Its ideas strong, fresh, and bold.
A rainbow of words spring from my hands
I am lost to the world,
I write.
The plot bunny claws at my mind,
I get no sleep that night.
I've stashed away my plot carrots,
I've set a thousand traps,
But they reproduce within me,
Each stranger than the last.
There's no escape.
I'm conquered, their slave,
I can't ever be normal
So long as they own me.
From the very moment of my birth
I sold my soul to the plot bunny.