a nothing writer
from a nowhere town
sits lonely in his castle
all the beauty
memories
hopes and dreams
they crowd in
suffocating and intoxicating
he needs
what is eating him
alive
to live
he loves
he sorrows
he rages and weeps
so easy
so damned hard
and meanwhile
he stands from his throne
surrounded by the beauty
the uncertainty that should not be
and he walks
on the razor’s edge
the delicate balance
the tortuous steps
as each makes him bleed
he smiles through his tears
knowing it’s worth it
unsure he knows anything at all
for what can
a nothing writer from a
nowhere town know
but heartache
Chris Miller 