paper

[brooklynbella]

I found a piece of paper once.
It was well worn, yellowed and creased.
The paper spoke to me.
'I'm tired' it sighed
'I ache with it'
'My fibers are dry and brittle'
' soon I will disappear'
'Little by little I will fall apart'
'I'm tired' it wailed again.
The texture of it grain pulsed with meloncholy and loneliness.
I'm tired it whisper
Then it spoke no more.