words
a cloud of words hovers above my head. punctuation rains down every so often, hail in the form of commas and periods and shards of question mark. i don't have an umbrella, so this blank-paged book will have to do.
i look down and there the words are on my skin, black as hell and overlapping until the darkness takes me. my body shines in its inky blackness and the bottom of my feet smudge the street where i walk. words i can't write down, words i can't speak yet, words which have no meaning but in the recesses of my heart. the entire world can see them now, but no one can read them. no one can read the words on my skin. i like it.
thunderstorms leave novels on my head and anthologies in my open hands. the only crops these words feed are the fruit of my pen, inedible to all and tasteless to some. i eat them on a regular basis.