I read to taste life twice.
I write to channel imagination’s vice.
The words they flow, and stories they sew, leaving me in the grips of night.
As the pages by wind turn
Off the paper, love creates a burn
The hero becomes a villain while the air, bone-chilling, sends a shiver to the edge of the spine
From beginning to end
The chapters maliciously mend
Any trace of a shred, of who I was before bed, and wake me new in the morn.
Kelly Rogers 