I write myself into nights,
In my poorly lit room
With an old typewriter on verge of breaking,
The sound of typewriter
Slowly eloping into silence of universe.
As the silence engulfs the world,
Spirits come to me
With stories of life,
Of deeds long done and lives never truely lived.
I live among a frenzy of sound, in a world full of sullen silence.

And when it rains,
I stand near my window,
The rain crashing against it.
I...