The Cursed Writer

The Cursed Writer

She is trapped outside the moment,
Perpetually the analytical observer
Always writing, and never living;
Everyday is: “This would make a great story.”
And, “This could be a poem.”
But never: “This would make for a nice day.”
And, “This would be a peaceful life.”
She prefers the solitude of her pen and imagination
To the complex crowd of creatures outside her room;
What great art she makes,
But what a peculiarly tragic life she lives.