I am a writer; I have nothing but my words to give. Can any of us really walk through life and claim not to know this fear?
Don’t you get it? I have nothing to give you but my words.
Words, words, mere ripples in the air and the scratch of black on white.
I am a hollow shell of a man, a fragile facade so paper thin I crumble at the touch of your pleading hands.
My soul resounds with a beauty my body will never realise. I can craft for you the finest bouquet of flowers, to adorn your angel face and braid through your night locked hair, but nothing of substance will ever grow from the branches of my labor.
Were I to charm the very birds from the sky, were I to capture lightning in an inkwell and distill the sound of God’s voice through the stroke of a pen still could I never give to you a ring of gold or a house of stone or shelter from the intemperate storms that beat upon us nightly.
Will you starve on the trappings of my love? Or will you find bright clarity through the haze of my affections, and discard me as you must?
I am a cicada’s husk; I am the shadow of the man you need hidden behind the glare of my ephemeral dreams.
I am wrapping paper in the shape of a box beneath your christmas tree, a lie told bright enough to hold your rapt attention while your stocking hangs empty in the corner.
I am a shape in the flicker of the cherry red flames while I feed off the breath in your lungs.
I am a will’o’wisp and a jack in the box; I am a parasite and I am a ghost and I am every name you could ever call me. I am nothing, but my vanity and my love for you.
Do you know how often I pray? In the silent hours of the night, haunted by the whisper of my guilty soul I pray to a Lord I do not believe in. I pray that you will see me for what I am, and turn away without a thought for the man with nothing but words to give.
I pray that you find other hands to hold. Hands that hold more strength than the weight of a pen, that give you more than promises and promise more than lies. I pray you find comfort beyond a pretty phrase, and warmth beyond my gluttonous flame.
For without you, I am nothing. Empty I will drift away, like words upon the wind.