Categories > Original > Poetry > And the Salt That Stains Your Cheeks
My Book
My book has pages missing,
Whole chapters torn right out,
The language is a foreign tongue,
To often obscured by a shadow of doubt,
Words are scratched out...
Erased and blotted too many times over,
Memories are fuzzy,
There are some things you can never recover,
I've no tape to bind it,
And no glue to hold it together,
My tears fall on open pages,
My hands shake with every movement,
I sometimes wonder...
What would happen..
If I tore all the pages out
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
A/N: Still one of my least favorites, but I do like the symbolism in this one. If you're looking to read my better stuff, skip a couple chapters. The chapter called Lost is when I can actually begin to form POETRY, not just vent out some words. Which is actually what I think poetry should be, but...
My book has pages missing,
Whole chapters torn right out,
The language is a foreign tongue,
To often obscured by a shadow of doubt,
Words are scratched out...
Erased and blotted too many times over,
Memories are fuzzy,
There are some things you can never recover,
I've no tape to bind it,
And no glue to hold it together,
My tears fall on open pages,
My hands shake with every movement,
I sometimes wonder...
What would happen..
If I tore all the pages out
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
A/N: Still one of my least favorites, but I do like the symbolism in this one. If you're looking to read my better stuff, skip a couple chapters. The chapter called Lost is when I can actually begin to form POETRY, not just vent out some words. Which is actually what I think poetry should be, but...
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