1 February 2013

A blank sheet of paper stares at me. It bores holes into my poor soul. I pick up an ink pen and kill it, Scribbling furiously, out of control.

I slop down all my vicious anger, Ripping holes, forever scars. The paper wilts, gone for now, Reminds me of what once was ours.

Grab a fresh, innocent sheet, Let all my rage pour onto it. Over and over, repeat this process, This is my way of having a fit.

Now my fury has my left body, Resting on its grave, paper. My troubles need to leave me... Or else they'll haunt me later.

I fold the corners messily, Trapping the horrible words inside. A shape emerges out of this, One that can soar, and not collide.

I take my hate plane to a window, Open the glass and feel the breeze. Look at my hand and launch it out, Watch hateful words leave me with ease.

AprilMayJuneFly Away • Opuss № I