The tenses of sentences are starting to change
The verb conjugations are all turning strange
With letters attached to the ends of their chains
Slowing them down with inked growing pains
My protagonist’s role is starting to shift
I’ve been imbued with a narrator’s gift
The editor’s parsing for every last is
And sealing away what were my what ifs
Your name on my lips tastes faded and dull
I’ll rewrite the pages your ambivalence stole
The present has lost its once timely hold
You were only a story already told
