writers don't write.

•Words aren’t written.
They’re often bled onto paper and ripped —whispered into thin air
never to be seen or heard of again.
Words aren’t written. Although I hear pencil scratches on my skin
Every night.
Words aren’t written. They’re incinerated —and writers don’t write, they set fire.
Words burst out of pencil tips
Of finger cramps
Of tired brains
Of black tears running down the faces of those we call insane.
Words change:
Courses of action, nations, minds, and motifs.
and they convert
sinners into saints.
But words aren’t written.
And writers don’t write. •