The pen won't stop. Send help.

These lines have gotten dull and tedious
I've already run out of things to say
Well, things that make sense anyway
One of these days I'll stop and work out why
I feel the need to write, every single day
To spill out pages and pages
Line after line, of our silly little story
Is it some newfound poetic euphoria?
Maybe if it were, I would be more pleased
You make the pretty words ugly by association
Yet I cannot fathom to form other words
Around any other subject in my heart
Maybe it's just that I've got a new calligraphy pen
And it's so damn fun to write with
or maybe its the fact you're still a puzzle
An unsolved mystery that perplexes my mind.