Writer For a Day

i was a writer for a day, a joker clumsily gifted who became a criminal in his home town of time, words propelled by infatuation, they spoke. i was a writer for a day, through the keyhole of remembrance, a muse's fuse flickered, the dawning of the end was surely planted, contrasting hooks and flowing locks, a jester does not lie, he can only joke. i was a writer for a day, until those connected painted pictures of a troll singing glitter laden lyrics, suggesting the lack of a soul, then eyes that'd never met filled with hours of painful regret, and soured hope. i was a writer for a day, more or less discovered brand new oceans, sans rudder, failing direction, investing hope in cosmic waves of emotion, walking imaginations plank, something broke. i was a writer for a day, elephants, monkeys and me captain albatross, sailing the seas of the land of delete, golden sands perfect isles with an unimaginable beautiful smile, secured by loves golden rope. i was a writer for a day, basking in the setting sun, whose passion was second to none, whose admiration for la luna's perfection only eclipsed by the ticking hands of reality, stung by a scorpion horoscope. i was a writer for a day - -