Timothy had everything that he'd need
A wife, a job, a home
He worked in a tower spending his hours
Calling and answering phones
His words to a pageHe screams and he shakes
To watch it goHis pen, as a knife
Carves their ink-bleeding lies
Into stone
Starting bright and early
Out by 6:30Walking into the fire
Returning back in ashes
Rusted steel he crashes
Back towards his desire
His hands grip the wheel of the poetry that heals
His endless grief
The more he drove away from all his convoluted ways
He finally breathed
That's not the only way the story goes
Each word's a double-sided, coded note
And all she sees is apathy
As he's re-writing history
The Author's novel writes the Author home