A writer never dies, for
their life is published
on pages of white,
they live forever within
the stories they write.

I sat thinking many times
before, spilling my missy
thoughts all over the floor, exposing it for all to read.

I am a writer,
My life is a paper
crisp and crumbled
with ink smudged edges.

I am always
lost in the jungles
of my deepest thoughts.

A ghostly poet
reincarnated through
a lost art of ink smears
and smudges.

I am yelled and scared
by time and my poetic crimes.

I gather myself upon these
pages, so the masses can
devour my deepest thoughts.

No pressure,
no pushing or shoveling
just a grave for my
poetic muse, for your
passionate views.

I bring to life expression,
my written strife burning
holes in the book of my past
experiences one line at a
time. Formatting strife
while I surf the poetic oceans of my life.

I fall deeply into the dark
but I burn bright as the
black devours the night,
for I become its light.

No darkness can divide us
from this process.

For I bleed ink so you
don’t have to, I sacrifice
my suffering with poetic
justice so you can find my truth.

These page’s are witness
to my poetic crimes.

Welcome to my personal
expression, its a trip into a
passionate relationship
with my muse.

No depression can survive
for my muse devours it with
darkness as it collapses
upon these pages turning
into smudges of life, I
bring it into the light.

© 2020 By Amanda Shelton