close up of hand holding pencil over white background

Shawn Van Horn

I’ve broken up with the world.
Words are my new mistress.  
You’re my way out of here.

Doors open inside you,
snapping shut when I look away. 
Black ink fit along the page,
lines like mountains hanging off the face of a bound world.

I create my own worlds there,
building my home amongst your chained letters.
I squeeze in to take a seat between sentences,
and lie down after paragraphs end.

An upper T dares me to climb it like a tree.
U promises rest inside its open hand.
I stand atop lower i,
reaching out in a feeble attempt to touch its floating moon,
before resting in the shade of Y.

I slide like a child down n,
and hang from j
into infinite darkness.
At day’s end I make a fort for one inside A.
A home for two inside B there will never be.

Lost in my new love, I am content to never be found.

Shawn Van Horn is a published short story writer and poet currently living in small town Ohio. His work has appeared in Our Time Is Now, Wilmington Blues, Fourth & Sycamore, The Oddville Press, Adelaide, Every Day Fiction, The Mark, Remington Review, Vaughan Street Doubles, and littledeathlit. He has also written two novels that he is currently seeking representation for (which is probably the whole reason why this website exists) and is currently working on a third. He dreams of fame and fortune, but will be okay if he has to just settle for a life spent pursuing his passion.