fragile
There was a hole
In the page
Which
Unsurprisingly
I fell through
Paper thin cracks
And shards
Of dripped
Dipped
And wasted ink
Flooded my pores
Painted
And pained
My flesh
As the lost ideas
Of women
And men
Wept their way
Down my spine
And the world
From below
The whole of the
Paper
Was a papier-mâché
Mask
Of malcontent
And mistrust
As all
The lines of dishonesty
Burnt above
Unthreatening
To the paper
For the flames
We're scribbled
In crayon
By heartless
Lost souls
And the confetti
That is life
Rained down
It's dandruff ideas
Sprinkling
Everything that was
Ever done
With a sense
Of fervent helplessness
Lost in the muddle
Of littered
Penmanship
And rotten fruits
Grown
But forgotten
Along with
The sheep
And their predictable
Meaningless
Slaughter
