It all starts with the first paragraph
A pair of hearts
Or some vengeance to enact
To my left is some ink stored in a bottle of glass
I put my quill down and take a breath before I crash

A long time ago or maybe just last week
A stormy night or up on a mountain’s peak
A sunny day or a darkened stormy night
The actors take their stand as I exit far, far stage right

I only wrote the plot-line
I don’t ever direct
My vision unfolds
but the producer makes it wind up not like I recollect

It’s the role I play
The price I pay for my success
I never follow through
I only go on to write another
Exposed,
Rising,
Conflicted,
Climatically
Descending
Mess