Writers

Maybe they are the only ones who sit in dark rooms and listen to Bonnie Prince Billy at four in the morning when the rest of the world is asleep. Writers. They tend to be the only ones to speak only when spoken to.

To wear baggy clothes to hide there flesh... however pale it lays. They tend to be the ones who wear long sleeves in the dead of the summer. As if there protecting themselfs from the worlds hungrey eyes because they feel that the world peers into other peoples lifes and flesh like perverts.


Writers can be a soft spoken breed in speech. There voices muffled by the power of there one friend who seems to always speak for them; scilence. Inside them quakes a curious power. One that is built on swift movement, weather it be pen, quill, pencil, fingures, or hands.

They keep a hidden voice thats barbbed wire shut with a lock and tiny sliver key.