Wadded up paper carpets the floor
As the hand in the shadows forms a few crumples more.
Blank thoughts hover silently like stars in the sky
The Writer moves the pen slowly and lets out a sigh.
A large woman in the corner looks up at the sound
She seems confused as she glances around.
The clock on the wall is a bomb set to explode,
The woman's chin quivers, she looks like a toad.
Her beady eyes swivel to land in one place,
A devilish grin forms on her face.
The silence is stirred by the creak of a chair
The Writer is still, but stays tensely aware.
As the wrinkly, old woman struggles to rise,
Her intentions reflected in her gleaming eyes,
Ribbons of moonlight wrap around the room
Back to the sky, where shining stars loom.
The Writer departs, to where people go,
When they disappear, to where we don't know.
The silence unbroken, but for the old chair,
That creaks when relieved from the weight it must bear.