Time and Reality

I may be another from a different story but all authors deserve some credit. With my book and quill I write till my story end, 'till my stories die, and  'till men cry. The amount I write is unclear for I write because I am time. I am the reality in the stories I weave. I am the ink that signs marks the line, for my tales are darkest in text. I am the quill that cuts the paper, for my skills are sharper then all. I am the time I take to create a masterpiece both full of mistakes and errors. Yet, the one thing i'm not is you. You are my reader, my audience, and I will never understand you. Are you watching me, the man who writes as if he is time? Do you criticize the lack of plot, or maybe the irregularities of space? Well that's what my story is, a jumbled mess of singularities that contains idiots in space.