To Be Continued Poem by Vincent Topp

So I wait for the calm to rise
As I sink into my author's throne
My eyes welded shut
My breathing clicking to attention at silences glare.

Outside noises become little gremlins
That fade away like the dying breath of an echo
My aura escapes me like the Northern Lights
Flickering through spectrums of all the colours of my mind.

This is the crossover, the moment I am at my most beautiful and vulnerable
I have to give myself up to let my slate be wiped clean
When I see the corridor I know I am entering the world of fiction
But nothing feels so much truer than this to me.

In the white room
Empty apart from
A white sheet of mental papyrus and my author's sword
I stay here and take the flashbacks and flash forwards
I write but never see the words just feel them
The end I never write, Just to be continued.