This is probably the only writing I'll ever put up and it's just a year-old poem. Nothing incredibly special.
Names
Life maker,
Life breaker,
Call me what you will,
No name can change the nights I fill
With voices,
Simple choices,
Patterns of thought.
Puppeteer,
I weave my web
To the Flow and Ebb
Of break-tide lives.
Imagined people,
The populace of lonely corners,
Of dark closets.
My wolves in the walls.
Emulator,
Orchestrator,
Image author,
I am none of these,
Yet all of them.
A creator on a whim,
An artist with a pen,
Caught in the throes of
My own inability
To express.