Who else can take a broken heart and
use the blood as ink to write the perfect tragedy?
Or twist a stupid mistake and
transform it into an intricate strategy?
I have been damned with the soul of a writer.
My short stories amuse others
and as the tension escalates,
satisfaction caresses me as
society adds on to the weight
I am bound to carry as a writer.
Take no alarm when I smile as you damage
the very soul I am damned with,
for I have just created a beautiful haiku
seeping with the silence of isolation.
Isn’t it amazing that I was able to pour myself
into the few lines you have read?
Yes, I have been damned with the soul of a writer
or blessed with a reason to continue hanging by a thread.