Over-extrapolation

The poets, novelists, and scribes
Of yester-years gone by
Began to fill the world with words,
The land, the sea, and sky.

The process has continued on,
The writers, multiplied.
And with every sentence, phrase, and book
I grow more terrified.

You see, they're taking over.
They're filling up my mind.
And if we don't control them now
We'll be in quite a bind.

They're flying ‘round my study,
And lurking in the halls,
And filling up the crevices
In ancient village walls.

They're marching on my bookshelf,
A military troop.
And next they'll fill the kitchen, STOP!
What is this in my soup!?!

Now I've devised a clever plan
To keep them on their guard.
We'll tie up all the writers
And cinch the rope up hard.

And hence eliminate the source,
To aid in its demise.
And not allow one blasted word
Be written ‘till one dies.

The libraries will close their doors.
The erudite will weep.
And though a little harsh appears,
The silence it will keep.

And so with pen and paper, I,
Around the world will state;
The dangers of the written word,
And journalists berate.

Then lengthy manuscripts I'll pen
Admonishing the crowds,
That they should ever cautious be
Of rhetorical shrouds.

But oh alas, I'm guilty too,
And with the rest condemned.
Then just to justify myself,
The rules I've set, I'll bend.

(attached note)

But not to fear, the just is just
And tales all must end.
I found this note one day, you see
While visiting a friend.

He didn't answer at the door.
The blinds had all been shut.
I couldn't find a trace of life
Within his cozy hut.

But on his desk this note was left
Aside his uncapped pen.
And large cases of erasers
Filled up his tiny den.

Now some said he was crazy,
Or better yet a fool.
But I don't think he chose to die
By drowning in his pool.