The tormented Muse

Finally you have arrived with your inquisitive eyeballs reading the soul of a possessed writer. I like it when people indulge themselves with the writings of a dead man. The eyes always seem to caress the very secret parts of you. You are constantly observed as you make sense of this mixture I call literature. Yes I am the spirit that creates creativity, watching as you absorb each word in disbelieve. Your dark hair and dark eyes glaring down on this gathering of words. You should feel the cold chill brushing the skin gently anytime now. I might be standing behind you while you’re reading this tormented writer’s book. I made him write this just as I am making you read this…