Once more, I write
once more, I acquaint myself
with an object so familiar
with my eyes, nose, lips, fingertips and ears
once more, I write on paper.
I remind myself
how it tears more easily
than the heart,
something so delicate that soaks too quickly
under a storm of tears
once more, a will
once more, I write.
I remind myself of my limitations:
a blank, finite space
cut, torn, or perfectly smooth edges
and my propensity for m̶i̶s̶t̶a̷k̶e̷s̷ errors
Again, I write
i̶n̶f̶i̶n̶i̶t̶e̶ i̶r̶r̶e̶l̶e̶v̶a̶n̶t̶ s̶t̶a̶r̶s̶,̶
o̶b̶s̶c̶u̶r̶e̶ d̶i̶s̶t̶a̶n̶t̶ d̶r̶e̶a̶m̶s̶
Inch by inch,
stroke by stroke,
letter by letter my words bleed to their imminent death:
on paper they are fittingly memorialised
in my mind they never rest in peace.