You can stop writing if your pens ran out of ink. You can always stop visualizing metaphors for someone who never loved sugarcoating, and the expressions you showed really didn’t matter because after all, every piece would end in a period.
You can always stop heartbreaks from being the subject and Schoenberg’s complexity to transform you into one. It’s never about the art you have become, for that would make you realize you were far better than Van Gogh’s.
You can stop having the midnight rush ’til my 3 AM’s would be written in an empty paper — so is stopping yourself from writing the chapter you didn’t plan.
You can always stop yourself from being a poet — but darling, you can never stop yourself from being a poetry.