Revising: Late evenings and smudgy rooms

Do people know
They write histories
When they pick up their pen
Late evenings and smudgy rooms
And uncomfortable postures
One pain and an era to un-love

The wait for “The End”
A hall full of applause
Fame comes handy, godfathers and
Their bitches are loving it

Where do I sell
Myself, my story
My pen and buy my name
In the history…..
Late evenings and smudgy rooms
Seven year old paper
Becomes more dull
When I write with a stolen pen

I wake up at the sunset
And sunrise takes me to bed
How much I sleep is not important,
Or let’s leave that for another poem

Living on the other side of the world
Dramatic but just another impact
Of the chips getting smaller