The Writer of Words

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The words the words the writer of words,

The one who lives for the nouns and the verbs.

Alone in his attic, gone to his room, thinking of something, a plot twist or truth.

The words the words the writer of words.

Prose doth he speak, knows what he knows, sees what folks doesn’t, see what folks done.

Thinking it always, see words less speak, teaching us something, writes what we read.

The words the words the writer of words.

Always he does, tinker his best, lays down the rules, opens his chest.

Let’s us all in, to that weird little mind, provides for us glimpses, of thoughts stuck in time.

The words the words the writer of words.

What is this talent to roll and to go. What is this desire to describe just one rose.

A man of the world? A man of the arts? A maker of stories? A thief of used plots?

What is his trait, why does he think. Why does it matter if we like what we read?

What is this passion? From where does it come? Secluded in nothing, promises to him none.

Not laughing funny, not getting laid, not getting read much, not getting paid.

Still he can’t sleep. Still he does write. Still his pen scribbles. Still he sees light.

Where is this end? At what tunnel he thinks? Does he not know that he’s working for free?

Find his reward, please show it to me! Tell me the prize to take on this disease!

Tell me for once, just give me one word, give me a reason this mans lives so absurd!

Well I’ll tell you reader, I’ll say what I know – The thought of not writing fills writers with woes.

For when pain does come, when life is unfair, there’s two kinds of escapes, addicts all do share –

One is through drugs, sex and bad things. The other’s through art, hearts raised to beauty.

For a man of the world does not see these two lines – he is a fool who thinks they’re both of one kind.

But I tell you something, for I have once seen – A man in his mind accomplish impossible things.

For hours spent thinking, writing fine lines, imagine the way to reach that pinnacle high.

How does that happen, to whom does it go? Who are these writers we have come to know?

They are the ones who persisted the best, they are the writers who pushed on from the rest.

Through all the rejection, the hatred and such, the loss of a lifetime, the miss of one’s touch.

Keep going forward, make that book great. Get that shit perfect, work through night’s late.

At the end of your life, on your death bed, would you rather have quit, or stuck it out to be best?

Is it not worth the struggle, not worth the strife, to see your own words, passed on through time?

I say it is, I say that I do, the words I do love you, now please love me too.

The words

The words

The Writer of Words

– Thomas M. Watt

Julie and Benjamin – Part 2

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Julie and Benjamin sprinted away, shackled together by a chain-linked set of handcuffs. The police officer chased after them.

“I knew something like this would happen!” Said Benjamin.

“Well it’s hard to go unnoticed when you’re wearing handcuffs, Benjamin.”

The couple turned the corner and ran through a bush hedge into a backyard. The backyard was littered with bullet-holed beer cans and empty shell casings, along with a single rocking chair and a flaky wooden shed.

“In here!” said Julie.

“Are you crazy?” said Benjamin, as he tugged back his handcuffs and kept her from entering.

The sounds of approaching ┬ásirens were accompanied by the shouts of, “Police, police!”

“Fine,” said Benjamin, practically dragging his wife behind as he kicked open the door. They slammed the door behind and found themselves engulfed in darkness. The cruisers could still be heard outside.

“This is all your fault,” hissed Julie.

“My fault?” said Benjamin. “It was you who talked me into your stupid plan!”

“Shut up.” Said Julie. “Just shut up. I hate you. I hate that I’m here with you. I hate that I ever married you.”

“Oh,” said Benjamin. “That hurts. That really hurts, Julie.”

“You’re not a strong man. You’re a coward.”

“Well you’re fat.”

“I am not fat!”

“Shhh, keep quiet.” Said Benjamin.

The two kept silent for a bit, as the sound of footsteps trudging through soggy grass could be heard just outside.

“Nobody here,” a voice finally said. The officers could be heard stomping away.

Julie issued a sigh of relief. “If only you didn’t get so nervous, we would have gotten away.”

“Oh please,” said Benjamin. “We got caught because you didn’t keep the officers distracted long enough.”

Julie scoffed. “It was a fool-proof plan, Benjamin. I was sobbing like a baby, and all the policemen were trying to calm me down. All you had to do was go through their lockers, toss all their uniforms in the sack, then walk. But no, you had to trip on the way out and spill everything.”

“Well it was a stupid theft in the first place. The more I think about your reason for wanting the uniforms, the more I question your sanity. By the way, thanks for taking the initiative to bolt after we were cuffed together!”

“I can’t believe I married such a… bore.”

“I can’t believe I married an insane woman.”

A light turned on. Julie and Benjamin turned to see a man sitting in the shed, a rifle in his lap and a cigarette in his mouth.

“You two done woke me up.” He puffed out smoke. “Ain’t nobody supposed to be on my premises, this here’s private property. You know what that means, don’t ya?”

“What?” said Julie.

The man stood up. A twisted grin overtook his face, and he held the rifle at his hip, barrel pointed in their direction.

Part 3, Coming Soon!

– Thomas M. Watt