JANUARY 24
I looked at you and saw a blank sheet of paper.
With slightly ruffled edges and nothing else.
You were the next thing for me to make ugly.
My black ink glazed effortlessly across your purity, and I cluttered
your mind with things that would drive, even someone as perfect as you, mad.
Insanity plagued you.
Everything that had destroyed me, seeded in you, and once I had
the courage to look back and see what I had done, it tore you apart.
Who I once knew, a blank sheet of paper, had been ripped
to shreds with self-shattering ideas, and you still looked at me.
Holding me together.
FEBRUARY 28
you are paper
and I keep destroying you somehow
my mind is chaotic
every stroke revealed
on your face
the written verse has
become the fear
which is the most
regrettable and necessary thing
to have happened
The Mews 
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