No longer exposed.

Trapped between the lines of A4

how I lived through your pen.

Now, you pause at thy name

my initials thicken,

the blotch on my name widens,

a shadow of despair insures.

It was all indicative

on how you wrote

my character off.

In a flash I was...

no match in the slow burn,

I began to char at the edges,

my well being parched,

until the blackened ashes

of me only remained.

I was no more but

an epitaph in a concrete bunker.

No more signs of dog ear tones by you 

where I entertained the story.

No longer your best seller,

written off -

you were no longer the heroine,

but the executioner

and yet,

still...

I see your signature stroll

into the lights

from your shadow cast.