that's you, Muse

I’m a writer! 

I’m a writer, okay?

I scream the words 

with my pen.

your hands on mine

guiding the shapes, scratches on paper.

your skeletal fingers brush

my calloused hands

pushing, pulling, shoving, throwing

in whichever direction you wish it to go.

you tell me what to say, what to think

when to breathe.

and even if I don’t want it,

you force the words out from the back

of my swollen throat,

fingers digging into rotten flesh

that flesh is mine

that flesh is yours.

once your lips open

a breath of musty air

tomb scented flowers

I smell with my ear

that’s you, Muse.

that’s you 

and without that silken whisper

in my ear

without your ashen breath

in my air

no words would be heard.