Ghostwriting & Marginalia.
Ghostwriter.
I haunt these words.
I hear their steps.
They pause...
But I remain static.
I haunt these words.
I am type-cast.
This cursor beating heart.
I hear them coming.
I feel them standing over me.
Ghostwriting.
I am this corpse.
I fear they think me dead, yet
I haunt these words.
Locked in, comatic,
Powerless to act, yet
I haunt these words.
They sharpen scalpels.
They take its organs.
They take its eyes.
They see nothing.
I am this ghostwriter.
Post scriptum
Post mortem.
Alive and Whole.
I haunt these words.
Marginalia.
"Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:—
We murder to dissect."
William Wordsworth.
