Roots Before Branches

Ghostwriter

Electric devotion and rays of light.
I can see clearly in the darkest of nights.
There's an eerie aura emitting from your glow;
It's like your spirited kindness has nowhere to go.
And I'm sad that we didn't get as far as we'd like,
But shit like this happens all the time.
I can't sit around waiting for you to act,
This friendship isn't in tact.
I'm not saying I hate you or that I ever will,
But I'm also not saying I love you; I'm far too gone for him.

And he's writing emotional poems through the coveted night;
I read them; I know it's not healthy, I often ask myself why.
But I love reading poetry about me,
I adore words born out of agony.
I love reading poetry in my honor.
It makes me see that you still think I have power.
I know, you know, you'd never admit it,
But you'd do anything to get back all up in my business.
So carry on writing your poetry about me,
I'm the ghostwriter of every last word; I am your artistry.

Paintings in my mind are the most impressionistic of sorts,
Do you ignore me just for sport?
Rhythms in your poems are the most romantic of types,
Would you say yes if I asked to speak with you tonight?
Verses in my mind are the most classical of such,
Is love a weapon or a drug?
Stories in your poems are the most abstract of their kind;
Are these your words, or, are they mine?

Let me know when you have the answers to those questions,
I'll be ready in waiting; flipping through the pages.
There must be a word for the obsession we share;
Was this born in lust, love, compassion or care?
I'll haunt your pages until I know the truth;
I am your ghostwriter, hiding between your words; I am you.