by Evan Fitton

Created on: September 06, 2008

we carry scraps of paper
folded neatly and tucked
into the hollow of our ribs
written in memories and sadness
the paper never ceases to crumble
time may heal wounds like a suture
but the sting is ever present
like a coursing venom that envelopes
every inch of our veins
our foot steps echo bereavement
and fill the air with a sorrow
so dizzy, so painful, and hopeless
tears are heavy

breaths are short
walls close in and begin to decay
do we have to finish every line
and stanza to feel some sort of
closure in this violent reality
when the air ceases and the ink dries
will we all lay down our memories
in a gallery for all to see
soaked in bleach and lime
to preserve our vessels for the final voyage
across the ocean of discontent
paper shreds fill the floor space
and cover me as I fall away
breathing the dust of ages
my heart asks my soul for forgiveness
begging to be placed in a jar
and placed on a shelf to stand the test of time
my ribs, empty and useless
thrive to be filled with something of materia
maybe one day these scraps will cut my insides
like glass to reflect my void
and portray my red on the floor
drops like rain, one by one
until an ocean consumes me
taking in death like slipping into a dream
finally filling the space in the hollow of my chest

Learn more about this author, Evan Fitton.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.