A Writers LoveFrom the tongue it is slipping,A lovely little white lineOn the scale that is tippingThe truth to dreams in due time.Flowing with ease the tale has bloomedSuch an incredible event.Squinted eyes and minds have doomedThe honesty his words were lent.Picked apart and innards untangledThe front is broken inTo reveal the way, so mangled,How a story could be such a sin.Left out of light and dyingA writers love is lying.