#40

December 20, 2010 § Leave a comment

Spiraled evidence of my incompleteness
Wraps metal arms around the edges of rough torn pages
But notebook embraces fail to hold the hands of issues that are rampant and
Ink and lead are little comfort in a world that is
Ripped from bindings and crumpled in the frustration that accompanies
when layers of words don’t reflect the writer or moreso
When they do
And broken hearts and broken minds are deafened by the breaking
Of pencil tips too sharp to form anything but holes
In the matter they cater to
Statuesque figures that stood for sketching
And stood for stability and stood for what was right
are now crumbling into puddles that are leaking
Through my fingers and these words don’t tell their stories
And these words don’t show them glory
And these words masking, muffling
And these words aren’t fixing anything

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You are currently reading #40 at Authored Angioplasty.

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