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.