I sit at my Underwood
I even turn off my phone
I don't want anyone to see
I don't want anyone to hear

Why use my old UnderWood?
Can't I write by hand?

She knows me the best
She has been around
my whole life
From my youth,
through my drug and sex
fueld theatre years
Still to this day
She can be trusted

I write
a full legal page
I write and read
It's beautiful
I want to keep it

I want to re-read it
one day, I want to
make it into a novel
But I can't
not now

I need to burn this
I need no one to read this

I read it one more time
I bring it outside
I clean the rock
which will be
it's funeral pyre

I light up the paper
looking at it
I want to take
a photo
but too many words
at on there

I look at the pattern
the flame is consuming
the paper
It feel so ceremonial
Two, three, four matches
The last word
on the page

'touch'

One last match
for the word

It's over

My mind is calmer

I was able
for a moment
to let my shadow self
talk and express itself

I feel tired
I feel drained

These words,
these ideas,
these stories
have been in my head
for weeks and months
They are finally out
they are finally burnt