The Ghost Writer

As I pick up my pen to begin to write these images
In my imagination I wrote this as if it was spoken
I’m hoping to learn something
let the words say something
That I can share for you to listen
Is it paranoia or premonition?
My instincts or intuition?
Now I’m leaving it all on paper
With rhythmic melodies and elegant Eliquis
I’m doing it all for the passion
Everything written in second hand
whether it's on purpose or happenstance
The words of my Ghost and its writer is all that stands