I have deduced the words
of every person I have encountered
to find the true meaning.
I have read words upon words
accompanied by the smell of old parchment
and even older words.
I have written letters until a page was crammed full.
It would be an understatement
if I said I was eloquently spoken.

I stare at every crease,
every name on the map,
waiting for the opportunity
to begin my research
in history.

It lights up an empty room
effortlessly, casually,
yet I still feel the presence
of darkness, lurking.

Sure it does,
isn't that what a bill is made of?