With the eye of Emily, Robert and Mary watching over me, words flow like timeRelative and endless, like the stars aboveThrough these stars seep ink soaked HeavensConstantly editing the black pages I know so wellWith every letter the eraser is taken from me and I am rendered lost in the novelAnd when that novel starts to tear, parts of my soul are rewritten and erased tooLegends of the past watch me through my bedroom window As I give myself paper cuts with my frantic writingWith my pencil dancing in tune with my thoughts I am never aloneCoffee may be spilled on these pages but I can still read words, and so can theyThe pen name of my author is me But their identity remains undisclosed to all except the poets of the pastAnd when I finish my novel the pen name will be deleted