Unwrittten

I wrote a letter of uncertainty I scribed in sweet remembrance I scripted dialogue to make me laugh, when I hurt myself My words are drenched, in sorrows that I wrote about I write to find joy, I write to seek closure, I write to discover craft, and I write to bare the ache, I write because I cannot sleep Slumber taunting me; rest being my torment Arthritis cursing my bones, circulation strangles my palms; clots bind me not from inscription, until the last tittle My words speak They tell of pain and fear They scorn, they chastise themselves, and they criticize They are tickled in laughter My words feel They fall in love, they create thrill They, of rage, avenge, they bleed and they heal My words decide They console, they heed to, they remove, and they disown They corrupt, they cure, they inspire They assert names, they tell time, and they dance They taste of freshly leaked ink They mediate between pen and mind They eat away at paper and conceal blanks They interrupt, they distract, they intensify, and they create mystery They devote with reason, they paint images with cause, and they are unmovable They misplace and they replace Stories untold, songs unsung, and liberties unjustified Read by the world Craved by the desired Motivates the unwilling And taste of delicious sovereignty I am unwritten, My words are not.