(no subject)
there's a pencil in her hand and she can't wait to get it down,
the stories of her future and the plans for her past.
there's the poems where she writes about
the star and the moons, the skies and the cloud,
the hearts and their love.
but the worst are the letters she writes to lovers.
it cuts them deep and disfigures their faces
there's a girl i know who likes to spill words
like buckets of paint, to drown
people she knows.
and when the tools to write are taken away
and all she has is herself
she write messages that can't be traced
with blood in the walls of her transparent memory.