Why I am blessed to walk in worlds where walls and souls are wrought with words To work and walk a wandering way so when I close the page they'll stay The same, await that moment when I wander by that way again What welcome will they give me? Warm? I hope, but stay well braced for scorn As when I'm gone their world stops dead - They wile away the hours in dread I won't return to work their world, their moon unwaxed, their pages curled By wonton wild distraction's flight - the things I'd rather do than write Or worse that my attentions may drift to another world and stay To will some new and unworn life through conflict, love and hope and strife And leave them in their world to rot - to be continued - dot dot dot Their dreams and hopes suspended, still, their foes at large against their will Ever to question, despair descending, Never to know or to get to their ending. Perhaps I should not so engage with those I'm trapping on the page I'll break their world and strip it down, no waste with words, this one can drown Survivors saved, a life raft's sail - a bit part in another tale I know that they're not really dead - They grumble on inside my head And fight and hate and love and die (unsettling glint in writer's eye) Until my head is fit to burst - such blessings pure with which I'm cursed Fuck who, what, where and why and when. I loose them on the page again I cannot make their stories end, take aim and kill a life-long friend I love them, crazy, fast and free.
They might just be more real than me
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